


Hold My Heart

by orphan_account



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Abusive Ex's, Anxiety, Bond doesn't do feelings, Dual-Mission, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meeting Q's family, Mild-OCD, Panic Attacks, Undercover, but he's trying hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-02-19 02:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2370323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The destruction ended and Bond had escaped late at night, but the agent had immediately gone off the grid, wanting to bask in his own misery, or at least drown it in the nearest alcohol, and Q didn’t want to stop working until he found him. He wouldn’t contact him, Q knew it would cause 007 to run even further and for longer, but he just wanted to check he was safe.</p>
<p>“Just like I would for all my agents,” he reminded himself, quietly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> *** </p>
<p>After a mission gone wrong, Q takes Bond to his family's home where Bond learns that he's not be the only one with a past. Being scheduled on a duo-mission with said Quartermaster a few days later seems like the perfect opportunity to get to know him even better... Doesn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friday Morning

 

Q felt his forehead slowly relax into the keyboard and he jerked himself back in his chair, immediately regretting it when his shoulder and neck muscles twinged. It was seven in the morning, and he’d sent the night shift home two hours ago. There was nothing more they could do.

 

The mission had well and truly gone to shit. Not even Bond’s impressive improvisations could have saved the VIP, or his three daughters, all who died slowly under Bond’s protection as he tried to rescue each of them. An inconspicuous Dr Smith had deferred from his home country with his family after they tried to force him into rebuilding their stash of nuclear weapons. Bond had guarded and protected them for two months as they quietly travelled down Eastern Europe, through Greece and Italy, and then north through France. They were just about to get on a private plane to cross the Channel when they were caught. Bond did everything he could, as did Q, as did their French counterparts, but it had all been ruined anyway. Months of effort and another four lives completely wasted. The destruction ended and Bond had escaped late at night, but the agent had immediately gone off the grid, wanting to bask in his own misery, or at least drown it in the nearest alcohol, and Q didn’t want to stop working until he found him. He wouldn’t contact him, Q knew it would cause 007 to run even further and for longer, but he just wanted to check he was safe.

 

“Just like I would for all my agents,” he reminded himself, quietly.

 

But even after hours and hours of work, he was nowhere to be found.

 

Q finally packed up his desk and turned his main computer off. He glanced at his watch and realised he’d been working for nigh on sixty hours. Definitely time to go home.

 

He made his way down to the garage and found his car by turning the alarm on and following the noise. It was a sweet cherry-red Peugeot RCZ 2013 Coupe, and Q loved it. He clambered into the front seat and dropped his bag on the passenger’s side before resting his head on the steering wheel. He could feel himself beginning to shake as the lack of energy began to overtake him, and his hands were numb. He gave himself five seconds before sitting back, starting the engine, and clicking his seatbelt into place. He turned the heater on and held his hands in front of the warm air until the prick of pins and needles signalled the return of blood to his hands. He drove slowly, ignoring the morning traffic that zoomed around him. It wasn’t until a huge tourist bus nearly clipped his bumper that he looked in the rear view mirror. He swore loudly and swerved across the road, ending up on the footpath with the nose of his car in an alleyway. Horns blared and people yelled, but Q ignored them, completely focused on the backseat.

 

“Morning, Q.”

 

Of course.

 

Q could only stare at him, not believing what his eyes were telling him. A million questions whirled across his mind, and it was a sign of his tiredness that it took him about ten seconds to prioritise them.

 

“Are you hurt?”

 

“Nothing some Paracetamol won’t fix.”

 

Q looked at him closer. Anyone looking at him could tell that Bond was truly exhausted. Two months of living constantly on edge, and in charge of three other people, had obviously taken their toll. But there was something else. His eyes didn’t even look alive anymore. Bond looked at him blankly, hopelessly, and Q knew this was different. This was very, very bad. Q tried to figure out what the best course of action was. He dearly wanted to have Bond looked over by Medical, but obviously that wasn’t Bond’s intentions, otherwise he would be there. And a trip to Medical naturally led to Psych evaluation, and that wasn’t on the table. He could always… No. No way.

 

“If you’ve stopped analysing me, Quartermaster, I suggest you get off the footpath. You’re causing a public disturbance,” Bond snapped, the prolonged stare unwelcome. Q made up his mind. Bond didn’t want something personal, fine.

 

“Well, if you hadn’t broken into my car, I wouldn’t have nearly crashed,” Q said, looking out the back window as he reversed back onto the road and slid into the traffic.

 

“I’m surprised you’re old enough to have a license,” Bond quipped back, settling into his seat again, and Q relaxed marginally. If Bond wanted their normal conversation, that was definitely something Q could do.

 

“Are you sore because you need to have yours checked once a year, now you’re over 65?”

 

“Shut up, spots. I’m not that old.”

 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Q muttered as he turned ono the highway.

 

They were quiet for twenty minutes as Q drove, yawning periodically. Bond gazed absently out the window, sitting up straight against Q’s leather seats. Q kept his eyes on the road, though his mind was spinning, wondering if he’d made the right decision. Bond’s voice broke him out of his thoughts.

 

“This isn’t the way to my flat.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Then where are we going?”

 

“You broke into my car, you can damn well not complain about where you end up.”

 

Q caught Bond smirking in his rearview mirror.

 

“Are you kidnapping me, Q?”

 

“Hardly. I have much better things to do than chauffer agents around London.”

 

Bond sighed and looked out the window again.

 

In another twenty minutes the blocks started growing, gardens filling out in huge green masses, with extravagant brickwork houses piled on top of them, all of them rising above ground level. Bond watched as driveways circled central ponds before disappearing behind the massive buildings, or sometimes even going underground. Q slowed down in front of one house and let the engine idle. Bond looked at it in surprise. It was all sharp, pointy rooves and columns supporting the third and fourth stories. The garden was a brilliant shade of green and kept in perfect condition. It could have easily passed for a country manor if it wasn’t less than an hour out of the middle of the city.

 

“You don’t live here.”

 

It was a statement. The whole place screamed not-Q.

 

“No, but you’re going to be perfectly polite to the people who do.”

 

Q turned the engine off before shuffling in his seat, facing Bond.

 

“This is my family’s home.”

 

Bond raised both eyebrows, his surprise somewhat shocking him out of his ghost-like state. Of all things, he didn’t expect this.

 

“You’re taking me to meet your parents?”

 

Q rolled his eyes. Did Bond really have to turn everything into an innuendo?

 

“No. But you’re sure as hell not allowed anywhere near my place, and you’re also not going back to yours. I assure you that their house is 100% secure. Bullet-proof windows and everything. I developed and installed the security myself. No one at MI6 knows their address, and they don’t know I work there. They think I’m in charge of IT at a publishing firm in the city.”

 

Bond paused to process it all. The comment about him not going back to his irked him, but his curiosity won out. The chance of seeing something of the mysterious Q’s private life was a chance he would likely never get again. It might even distract him from the blood and explosions that persistently cut through his mind… He imagined they all cried when they died, except for the youngest girl. She’d looked into his eyes and put her hand on his cheek. She was thirteen… Bond blinked, bringing himself back to the present, uncurling the fists he’d unconsciously made. Q eyed him, missing nothing.

 

“How are you going to explain me?”

 

Q turned back around and started the engine again, apparently satisfied.

 

“I’ll think of something.”

 

Q kept the Coupe slow as it travelled over the gravel driveway, which was lined with tall oaks on either side, the leaves dappling the light shadows cast by the morning sun’s rays. Bond looked up as the house loomed over them. He was used to grandeur, but this was almost on another level. He tried to picture a young Q running through the gardens, or peering out one of the ornate windows, but he just couldn’t see it. Q drove past the front door, and turned round the side of the house. The road continued around to the back of the house, but Q curved away from it and parked on a concrete rectangle that was on the edge of the garden. Bond unclicked his seatbelt, but stopped as Q held up a hand. The ground below them moved and Bond immediately tensed and reached for his gun, but Q said “Wait,” and Bond stopped. The car was going into the ground. He looked out the window and down and he saw the concrete slab descending, bringing the car with them. The grass brushed past over the window and suddenly they were in a large, underground area where there were at least five other cars, parked in their own separate bays. Q edged the car forward and into an empty space before turning it off for the final time and opening the door. Bond got out too, and looked around. The space was truly massive and could fit five times the amount of vehicles it currently held.

 

Q grabbed his bag and swung it over his shoulder before locking the car with a button on the keys. It made a happy ‘beep beep’ sound and flashed its lights. Q patted the bonnet and walked towards the stairs which were in the middle of the garage. Bond followed him, but stopped as they got closer to the other cars.

 

“Q, is that a Vanquish?”

 

Q didn’t even look up.

 

“My brother’s second car. He keeps it here for when he visits.”

 

“You have a brother?”

 

“And a sister, both older.”

 

Bond huffed.

 

“I should’ve known you’d be the youngest child, you’ve got all the personality traits. Seriously though, your brother drives a Vanquish in his spare time?”

 

By this time Bond had dragged himself away from the Aston Martin to the next car, which also made him pause.

 

“This is an Alfa Romeo 8C.”

 

“Glad you can read, Bond.”

 

“No, Q. This is an  _Alfa Romeo 8C_.”

 

“It doesn’t become more impressive if you say it twice.”

 

Q kept walking forward, eager to move on. He knew it was going to be hard to get Bond out of the garage, especially if he saw…

 

“Ferrari. F430. Q, do you not  _see_  this?”

 

“Bond, let’s go.”

 

Bond looked up at Q’s sharp tone, surprised. Surely even Q could appreciate the beauty he was surrounded by… But maybe not, Bond thought, shrugging it off. It wasn’t computers, or something that he could tinker with, so Q probably didn’t care. He walked past the rest of the cars in silence, stopping only at the last one because Q had. It was a jet-black Corvette Stingray.

 

“Q?”

 

Q shook himself and started up the stairs.

 

“Sorry. That’s my sister’s car, I didn’t realise she was in London.”

 

Bond didn’t know what to say to that, so he remained silent.

 

There was a white door at the top of the stairs, its panelling carved into intricate patterns, spiralling towards the top of the doorframe. Q pushed it open, and Bond followed him into a brightly lit room that seemed to be almost all made of glass. Windows replaced walls and showed a stunning view of the garden. They were on the ground floor, and Bond could make out the concrete slab Q had parked on not five minutes before. The carpet was a rich cream and the ceiling was the lightest periwinkle blue, reminding Bond of Italian summer skies that seemed to stretch forever and ever. Q walked through the room without looking around and Bond hurried to keep up. They twisted through corridors and empty rooms, the colour scheme changing from the pale white and blue to a deep crimson, emerald green, and warm browns. Whoever designed the house was a genius. They climbed a staircase, which had curling bannisters along both sides, and Q led them further into the house. After another minute of walking, Bond heard two female voices, the words cutting through the empty air.

 

“Honestly, mother, it was just awful. I packed up and left straight away. There was nothing to be done.”

 

“It certainly sounds that way, Cass…” The second voice sounded weary.

 

“You should have seen him, storming off the way he did. He couldn’t be reasoned with!”

 

“Yes, you mentioned-”

 

“I haven’t talked to him, of course, but I’m sure he’s off at David’s place. It’s where he always goes whenever something’s vexed him.”

 

Q stopped in front of a closed door, which the voices were clearly coming from. He turned to Bond.

 

“Remember, they don’t know anything.” He kept his voice lowered, and Bond nodded. The curiosity had only built since seeing the house and he was dying to meet someone Q was related to. Up until this point, he didn’t know Q had any family. Actually, now he thought about it, he didn’t really know anything about Q at all.

 

Q reached out, inhaled deeply, turned the doorhandle and stepped into the new room.

 

It was a cross between a sun room and a breakfast room. A medium-sized table sat in the middle, adorned with a floral tablecloth, and loaded with glorious smelling food and a large pot of tea. The room was a light shade of teal with cream carpet again. A deep blue rug lay under the table which two woman were sitting at. Bond was almost shocked by the family resemblance. The first woman, obviously Q’s mother, was sitting back in her chair with a cup of tea held between her two hands. She had straight, shoulder-length hair, but it mirrored Q’s shade exactly. She was average height, and slim build, and Bond guessed she was in her 60’s. The other woman was a bit older than Q, maybe 35, but looked younger and was very attractive. Her light brown hair had Q’s waves and fell to the middle of her back, curling stylishly at the ends, tipped blonde. She was wearing a fitted dress with sleeves that went to her wrists, but the skirt only just covered the back of her thighs. Her high-heels could challenge Moneypenny’s, as could her expertly applied makeup, which bought out her blue eyes. They both turned at the sound of the door opening, and the mother stood up, placing her teacup gently onto the matching saucer.

 

“Jasper! The day’s hardly started and it’s already filled with unexpected things!” Her posh accent clipped her vowels, just like Q’s, but she had the soothing tone of a mother. Q embraced her delicately, before turning to the younger woman, his sister, who had already looked Bond up and down. Twice.

 

“ _Jasper_ ,” Bond thought. The name suited Q.

 

“Cass, I didn’t know you were here.”

 

“I arrived an hour ago. Adam left me.” She tossed her head, her hair landing perfectly around her shoulders. She slowly rose out of her chair, knowing exactly how to stand and accentuate her best features, and gave Bond a wide smile.

 

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced?”

 

Bond was about to say something, when Q interrupted him.

 

“Oh, yes. Mother, Cass, this is my colleague from work, James. He lives in the same apartment block from me and it’s being tested for asbestos. They kicked us all out for a week. I said James could stay here. James, this is my mother, Theresa, and my sister, Cassandra.”

 

Bond gave them both his most charming smile, his eyes lighting up to a resemblance of normality.

 

“A pleasure.”

 

“The pleasure’s mine,” Cass said, stepping forward, completely ignoring the look Q gave her. Luckily, Theresa didn’t.

 

“Cassandra, either sit down or go fetch Jasper and James some breakfast. I’m sure they’re both hungry. What time did you leave the flat, dear?” She sat back down as Cass strutted out of the room, taking advantage of Bond watching her walk away.

 

“Actually, mother, James and I both came here from work.”

 

She sighed and waved the two men into seats opposite her.

 

“Another all-nighter? I honestly don’t know what that company thinks they’re doing that’s so important, but it’s hardly fair on you, especially since-”

 

“Mother, it’s fine. I offered to stay, they needed something finished. I didn’t want to arrive here too early, anyway. I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to call beforehand.”

 

“It’s not a hassle, Jasper. You don’t come here often enough anyway.”

 

Q poured two cups of tea, and slid one over to Bond.

 

“Where’s father?”

 

“Already at work. You’re not the only one who has ridiculous hours. He should be back tonight.”

 

Q’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t push the subject. He was far too aware of how quickly Bond was finding out exactly too much.

 

“James,” his mother said, turning on the newcomer. “Tell me about your work. Are you IT, as well?”

 

“No, ma’am. I work in Admin.”

 

“Theresa, please. How did you and Jasper meet?”

 

Bond didn’t even hesitate.

 

“My computer was broken, Jasper came and fixed it for me.”

 

“Oh, how lovely. And how long have the two of you been together?”

 

Q choked on his tea.

 

“Mother!”

 

Theresa raised an eyebrow and bit into a crumpet. The look was so incredibly familiar, Bond almost laughed.

 

“James and I are certainly not together!”

 

“Well, one can dream.”

 

Q just looked at her incredulously.

 

“Really Jasper, don’t you think it’s time that you dated someone else?”

 

Q put his teacup down.

 

“That’s enough.”

 

It was a tone that could send every minion and agent, including most of the double 0’s running, but Theresa didn’t even flinch.

 

“Don’t glare Jasper, it’s unbecoming.”

 

The door opened again and Cass walked back in, balancing a tray of buttered toast in one manicured hand. She placed it in the centre of the table before excusing herself again, and slid away through another door. Q stood up as well, and collected some toast on a spare plate.

 

“If you’ll excuse us, I think both James and I need to rest.”

 

“Of course, dear. James can have the second guest bedroom.”

 

Q paused.

 

“I was going to give him the one on the third floor.”

 

“Why on earth would you do that?”

 

“It’s a much nicer view of the garden.”

 

Both Bond and Theresa noticed the tension in his voice.

 

“Nonsense, it’s a longer walk to the dining room.”

 

Q inhaled deeply, clearly wanting to leave.

 

“Fine! He can stay there.”

 

Theresa frowned at him.

 

“Go to sleep, Jasper, you’ll feel better. I won’t wake either of you for lunch. If you’re not up and about, you obviously need the rest. James, it was lovely meeting you. Jasper can show you to your room. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

 

Bond thanked her, grabbed a plate of toast as Q had done, and walked out the door after him.

 

Q was fuming. He stomped back through the corridors and up two more flights of stairs. They walked along another corridor that was lined with spectacular framed paintings, most of which were obviously originals. Q stopped about halfway down and opened another door. They both stepped inside. It was a huge bedroom, with a private bathroom and a walk in robe attached to either side. In the middle of the room was an enormous four-poster bed with a deep green cover and a golden headboard. The rest of the room was done in soft greys, whites, and blues. Overall, it had a calming effect. Q closed the door, so they were shut off from the corridor and faced Bond. But as soon as he saw the agent’s clearly exhausted face, the fight rushed out of him. Bond had been awake far longer than he had been, and had behaved faultlessly, even in the midst of his sister’s flirtations and his mother’s questioning. He was in a strange house after a brutal mission and didn’t complain as Q had dragged him unceremoniously around. At once, Q felt like a complete ass.

 

“There’s a towel in the bathroom, feel free to wash. There are clothes in the wardrobe that you’re welcome to, I’ll get some of your own delivered by the afternoon. There’s also a key in the doorhandle, which is the only way to open the door if you lock it from the inside. Oh, and…” Q dug into his cardigan pocket and pulled out two Paracetamol tablets, and placed them on the bedside table.

 

The silence stretched between them.

 

“Thank you,” Bond said finally, and turned to put his plate onto the dresser.

 

Q moved past him and opened the door into the corridor.

 

“If you need anything Bond, my bedroom’s the first on the right. I hope you sleep well.”

 

He turned to leave.

 

“Q?”

 

Q looked over his shoulder. Bond looked lost again, his gaze focused on the thick carpet.

 

“Thank you. For waiting for me at HQ. I knew you were trying to find me.”

 

Q stepped out of the door.

 

“I’m sorry about the girls. It wasn’t your fault. I’m first door on the right.”

 

He shut it quietly behind him.

 


	2. Friday Evening

Bond was awake the moment someone knocked on his door, his hand closing around his gun. Moonlight shone in through the gaps in the curtains, and he could just make out Van Gogh’s Starry Night painted on the ceiling of the bed. He hadn’t even noticed that when he’d fallen asleep.

When Q had left, he’d done a quick sweep of the room before dragging himself into the shower, scrubbing away the dried mud and blood on his skin, and throwing his clothes straight into the rubbish. It was a large bedroom, with only one door leading to the corridor. The bathroom had a door that was locked from his side (presumably the bathroom was designed to be shared between him room and the one next door, but Q had decided not to inflict that upon either of them), and the walk in robe was huge but contained nothing unexpected. He surveyed himself in the full-length bathroom mirror sullenly. There were a few nasty cuts across his shoulder blades, and his back twinged when he moved but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Apart from that he just looked… empty. He’d found a pair of pants in the wardrobe which were loose enough to pass as pyjamas and thrown himself into the bed, keeping one hand on his Walther, shutting his eyes and his mind till the darkness took him.

Whoever was outside knocked on the door again, this time calling through the doorframe.

“Bond, it’s Q. Can I come in?”

Bond called out an affirmative before twisting out of bed, gritting his teeth as he felt the cuts on his back pull at the remaining skin. Q opened the door just enough to fit his hand in, and flicked a light-switch. He waited another second, allowing Bond’s eyes to adjust, before opening the door fully and stepping inside. Q was dressed in fitted jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, resembling the essence of smart casual. His hair looked as if it had been in a fight with a comb and won. He held a large suitcase in his hand which he promptly put on the floor against the wall, ignoring Bond’s lack of shirt.

Q held the door open a second longer.

“Come on,” he said, calling to someone in the corridor.

Bond heard an uneven footstep before a massive, three-legged dog appeared in the doorway and loped inside. It stopped at Q’s hand and snuffled it before continuing into the room until it stood in front of Bond, and looked beseechingly up at him. It was tall, it’s back almost at Bond’s waist, and it had deep brown eyes that shone out of its grey and white face. It had a kind expression and Bond put his hand on top of its head before scratching it behind an ear. It leant into his hand and panted happily.

“Bond, meet Audrey.”

Audrey looked back at Q when she heard her name, before turning back to Bond, nosing at his hand until he started patting her again.

“She’s beautiful. Irish Wolfhound?”

“Scottish Deerhound. Same idea, just less solid.”

Q walked forward and scratched along Audrey’s back, who was clearly enjoying all the attention.

“What happened to her?”

Q sighed and looked at the dog a little sadly. The sigh was the same one Bond heard whenever he didn’t return his equipment. A little disappointed at the loss, but also a resolution to move forward.

“Bone cancer in her front leg. Not uncommon in giant breeds. They gave her a couple of weeks to live when she was diagnosed, unless we agreed to surgery. So they took her leg and gave her six more months.”

“I’m sorry,” Bond said. But Q just shook his head.

“It’s more time than I could’ve hoped for the brave thing. She’s doing fabulously.” Aubrey swivelled on her front leg until she was facing Q, who put a hand into his jeans pocket and pulled out a treat. “And is spoilt rotten, too,” he said fondly.

“She’s yours?”

“Yes, but I can’t keep her at home. I’m not there often enough and it wouldn’t be fair to move her now.” Q’s eyes drifted to the bed before snapping back to Bond.

“Turn around.”

The Quartermaster’s voice was back, and Bond did as he was told, albeit slowly. As he turned, he looked back at the bed too.

“Shit, Q, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.”

“Don’t apologise, it’s fine.”

Blood had been scraped onto the white sheets, Bond’s every move in his sleep punctuated by another red smear. Bond knew exactly how to get blood out of material, and knew that there was no saving the sheets now. He felt Q step forward, looking closely at the gashes on his back.

“Some of these should really get stitched, Bond.”

Bond stiffened, and Q noticed the muscles in his shoulders tense.

“No.”

There was an edgy silence until Audrey let out a small whine. Q hushed her and put a comforting hand on her back.

“Fine, stay here, I’ll be back soon. Your clothes are in the suitcase, they were bought round this afternoon. Don’t put a shirt on yet, though.”

He left the room quietly, shutting the door behind him.

Bond looked at the door for a second before stripping the bed, piling the dirty sheets together, careful not to bleed on anything else. He didn’t know why he felt so guilty. It was common wear and tear, and it’s not like he ruined the sheets on purpose. He placed the pile at the end of the bed, and stopped as the fabric moved against his skin before groaning. It was Egyptian cotton. With an insanely high thread count which would probably equal the hours Bond was going to feel bad about this. They had let a complete stranger into his home after all. He changed his pants quickly, and put a dark blue shirt on the pillows that would match Q’s semi-formal attire. Audrey circled around one of the rugs before laying down. Bond knelt next to her, scratching a line of white fur that ran up her stomach, and looked up sharply as the door opened.

Q entered again, followed by an elderly woman holding a white bag.

“James, this is Rosa, she’s a nurse.”

Bond stood and held out his hand.

“I’m sorry about all this,” he began, but the woman cut him off.

“Nonsense. Jasper explained.”

“He did?”

“Turn around, James.”

Bond did so, feeling a little out of his depth. What had Q said to this woman? Rosa tutted before unzipping her bag and motioning to Q, who disappeared into the bathroom. Bond heard the tap run and then Q was back in the room, handing something back to Rosa. She started wiping down Bond’s back with a wet cloth, chatting in a bright bedside manner that would usually set Bond’s teeth on edge, but this time he found it oddly comforting.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you didn’t say something before, James. Q said it only happened this morning, and it must’ve hurt.”

“I couldn’t quite believe it myself, Rosa,” Q said, throwing the woman an offhand grin. Bond stared at him, trying to remember if he’d seen Q smile before, much less act so unperturbed. Rosa tossed the red-splotched cloth to Q who retreated back into the bathroom, and then picked a bottle out of her bag. Bond recognised the smell straight away.

“This is going to sting, but it’ll make sure it won’t get infected.”

The woman was already dabbing at the cuts and Bond forced himself to relax as the throbbing set in.

“Jasper said you don’t want stitches, so I’ll glue the few back together that need it. But you have to promise to keep the bandages on.”

Bond nodded, not wanting to speak. The rest of the time he kept his head down and stayed quiet, not wanting Rosa or Q to hear the strain that would be in his voice. Q came back into the room and sat on the end of the bed, keeping a careful eye on the two of them.

“Now, those’ll have to stay there for at least three days,” Rosa said as she slapped the last bandage on, “but if they come loose or need changing, I’ll be around. I’ve got some antibiotics for you. He’s not allergic to anything is he, Jasper?”

“No.”

It wasn’t till then that Bond realised Rosa was directing this information at Q and not him, who seemed to take it all completely to heart.

“Good, then he can be on those for a fortnight. I also presume you don’t want your mother knowing?”

Q smiled that secret smile again.

“You know me too well, Rosa.”

She frowned, but nodded, before picking up the bloodied sheets and bustling out of the room.

“What did you say to her?” Bond asked, as he shrugged into the shirt, hiding the gauze and bandages covering his back.

“That you fell out of a tree and you’re too stubborn to admit that you needed something more than drugs for pain.”

Bond ignored the jibe.

“She seems to have half a hospital in that bag.”

“Yes, well,” Q said, breaking eye contact and walking over to Audrey. “It comes in useful.”

Bond noticed that Q used slow movements, allowing Bond time to react to each step, and generally remained on the other side of the room to him.

“How long was I asleep for?”

“Just over eleven hours. I came up to see if you were hungry. Dinner’s at half seven.”

The moment Bond thought about food, his stomach twisted, reminding him of exactly how long it had been since he’d had a substantial meal. The toast this morning felt like crumbs.

“I’m starving.”

“Good, Mother got excited about having guests. You won’t be allowed to leave the dining room until you’ve consumed half your weight.”

Bond laughed at Q’s deadly serious expression. Eventually a corner of Q’s mouth curled slightly, allowing himself to share the joke, too.

“I need to sneak Audrey back down stairs. I’ll come and get you in ten minutes. Audrey, let’s go!”

The dog was on its feet and out the door in a second and Q nodded at Bond before he closed the door.

Bond sat down heavily on the bed, appreciating the softness he’d ignored in his previous exhaustion. It had been a long two months, and it couldn’t have ended worse. The faces of the doctor and his family flashed across his mind, and Bond knew he’d never forget them. They’d all been so young. Even the father was a few years younger than Bond, too intelligent to live, because he was too kind to do the wrong thing. Bond came to respect him as they journeyed together. The man had offered several times to go back and confront their pursuers so Bond could take the girls to safety, but each time Bond had refused, knowing there was no point returning to England without the doctor; M would just send him back out again. He turned his mind from the devastation in France to his actions in London. He still wasn’t sure what drove him to go to Q. They joked and even flirted over the comms, but in person Q was as cold as any of his machines, not letting anything affect him, constantly on the lookout for any malfunctions in his equipment, or his agents. But Q protected him, even when he was on the other side of the Earth. Maybe there was something in that… Ending up at his family’s home was another surprise, and Bond was intrigued, it was almost exactly the opposite of what he’d expected. There were the few comments his mother, Theresa had made as well, where Q had cut her off. There were things he didn’t want Bond to know, which made Bond infinitely more interested.

And, all curiosity aside, he’d managed to sleep for hours directly after a mission, without any of his usual methods of draining himself. Something about this place allowed him to wind down.

He unpacked while he waited for Q, lining the empty shelves with his clothes and shoes. Whoever packed his bag had grabbed everything, leaving him with almost too much choice in clothing. He couldn’t imagine needing most of his suits in the next week, for starters.

A knock sounded on the door again and Bond jumped, sliding sideways into a shooting position, aiming his Walther at the door before he even realised what he was doing. Q opened the door and took in Bond’s stance, unflinching. Audrey was nowhere to be seen.

“You are not bringing your gun to dinner.”

Bond mentally shook himself and placed the weapon in the top drawer of the bedside table.

“Lead on.”

They walked through the house in silence, Bond taking in the corridors and rooms around him, beginning to commit the layout to memory. They only walked down one staircase, leaving them on the first floor and Q led them to the dining room. Bond was expecting a continuation of the stateliness of the rest of the house, but the massive wooden table that was polished till it shined and adorned with real silver cutlery and crockery took his breath away. Q sat down unceremoniously, gesturing for Bond to do the same. A few moments later a second door, at the other end of the room, opened and Theresa, Cass, and another man entered, wearing a suit that caught even Bond’s attention. Bond stood up, following Q’s lead, but unlike his mother, Q didn’t embrace his father. The short, wavy hair and the high cheekbones highlighted the family resemblance, but he also carried the same air of intelligence that seemed to hang around the Quartermaster.

“Hello there, Theresa mentioned we had a guest. Edwin,” Q’s father said, holding out his hand. Bond shook it and was surprised by the strong grip. He seemed somewhat familiar, but Bond couldn’t quite place it.

“James. I’m afraid I’m taking up space in your home for a little while as our apartment block is being cleared of asbestos. You’re kind to have me.”

“No need to mention it. Sit down, please. I’m sorry we’re dining late, I only just arrived.”

The company sat at one end of the table, Bond sitting between Q and Theresa. Edwin had taken the head of the table, and Cass sat opposite.

“Jasper,” Edwin said. “I haven’t seen you for months.”

“Work has kept me pretty busy.”

“Yes, so you keep saying. Are you still at that… what is it? Editing?”

“Publishing firm, father. Yes, I’m still there.”

“You can do better than that, Jasper. If you want I can put in a word around my office, we need people like you.”

“Once again, thank you for the offer, but I’m happy where I am.”

Edwin only seemed to hold back a sigh.

“James, what do you do?”

“I work with Jasper, I’m in Administration.”

“Lovely. Ah, the food!”

Doors opened and mouth-watering smells washed through the room, enveloping the gathering at the table. The food was laid before them and a bottle of wine was passed around. But before it reached Bond, Q interrupted.

“James doesn’t drink.”

Bond looked at him.

“Ah, a pity, this is a beautiful wine. But at least someone can join you in sobriety, Jasper.” Edwin’s voice drifted to a slightly condescending tone at the end, which Q ignored.

The rest of the dinner passed quickly and was filled with polite conversation. If there was one thing Bond could do, it was fit in with whatever crowd he was running with, and by the end of the meal both of Q’s parents were charmed, and Cass kept trying to run her leg up his under the table, which he steadily ignored, and edged further away. As soon as the last dishes were collected, Q rose from the table and excused himself. Bond bid everyone goodnight and followed Q back to through the winding house. Q didn’t say anything, leading them downstairs to the ground level. They walked to the back of the house and Q opened a door outside, whistling softly. Bond heard something scratching and snuffling, and Audrey appeared out of the dark. Q led her inside and locked the door. Audrey loped past them and waited in front of what looked like a door to a cupboard. Bond raised an eyebrow, but quickly understood when Q opened the door, revealing a miniature lift that Audrey fit into snugly. Q closed the door and pressed a button in the doorhandle then walked quickly back to the second story, where there was an identical door in the corridor that housed their rooms. When the door opened, Audrey shuffled out and waited to see where they were going next.

“Can we talk for a moment, Q?”

Q nodded.

“Your room, though.”

Bond shrugged and they walked back down the hall. Bond opened the door, let Q and Audrey in, and closed it behind them.

“Right,” said Bond, walking over to the bed, then paused. It was completely made up with fresh sheets. “I thought you said no one else could get in here?”

“You left the key in the door handle.”

Bond turned to check, and found Q was right. He pushed off the nagging thought that he was getting old and starting to miss things, and sat down on the bedspread. Q and Audrey settled on the rug, Audrey’s head in Q’s lap.

“I presume you have questions. That’s completely fine and I’ll answer almost all of them.”

“Almost?”

“You’re going to be living with my family for a week, so it’s only fair that you know a little more about them in order to retain our covers. I will not, however, answer anything about me. They may let some things slip occasionally, but I ask that you don’t pry.”

Bond thought that through.

“But if I need to learn more about your family to share this enormous house for a few days, wouldn’t it make sense for me to know more about you so we can work well together? Our professions do continue on once this week is done, after all.”

“I haven’t found that it’s been a disadvantage up to this point. Have you?”

Bond could tell by the sudden intensity of Q’s bright green eyes and the slight tilt of his head that it was a genuine question.

“No. But you know everything about me. It’s all on file and-”

“Bond, really, I only want one thing from you.”

Bond then realised that this was the first time Q had ever outright requested him to do something that wasn’t ‘Turn left’, ‘Turn right’, or ‘Shoot’. He nodded. Maybe by the end of the week something would change.

“Thank you. Now, there are some things I need to tell you.”

“Like how your father’s a Lord?”

Q looked down at Audrey.

“You thought I wouldn’t recognise him? Seriously, Q. He was right in the middle of the revision of the Healthcare system, I think everyone knows who he is.”

“And it’s the only reason my mother allowed me to rework the security on the house. It would’ve been incredibly difficult otherwise. Yes, he works in the government, and is Lord Bellworth. I don’t think it could be a more pretentious name if it tried.”

“Which makes you Jasper Bellworth.”

“Jasper Thomas Bellworth, who died in a car crash the day I took the job as Quartermaster. In every single part of the world, except this house, I am Q.”

“Jasper Thomas Bellworth.” Bond rolled the name around on his tongue. It suited the Q he knew, all sharp consonants, with well-hidden rounded vowels. “Thomas?”

“I don’t want to hear it, James Herbert Bond.”

Bond actually flinched.

“OK, I won’t call you Thomas if you promise to never use that again.”

“Done.”

Bond crossed his arms.

“So, what do I need to know?”

Q inhaled, sorting through the list in his head.

“You’re not going to be a problem with my parents, they already love you more than me.” Bond couldn’t tell if Q was joking. “But try not to bring up work around Father, he won’t stop talking, even if you agree with him. Mother’s a dear, and will run herself to the ground since there are the three of us here, although I dare say Cass will take up most of her time.” Q looked back at Bond. “Cass… Knows how to work people. Take everything with a pinch of salt. In fact, if you can avoid it, don’t take anything at all.”

“What about your brother?”

“Benjamin? You won’t meet him or his family. They live in Cardiff and aren’t prone to visiting.”

Q shifted on the rug, moving Audrey’s head to his other knee.

“Your father doesn’t seem too impressed with the publishing business.”

“Well, no, but he wouldn’t be, would he? He genuinely wants me to be happy, and I appreciate that. The sad thing is, is that if I really did work in the publishing place, I’d be mad with boredom, and they know that. They don’t understand why I stay. Common topic of contention.”

“There are processes you can go through,” Bond said cautiously, not knowing if he was overstepping a line. “To tell your family, I mean. It’s gruelling, but 001 told her husband a few years ago and it worked out fine.”

“I appreciate the thought Bond, but I also don’t want them to know. It’s… complicated.”

Bond waited for him to elaborate, but Q remained silent, so Bond changed the topic.

“So, Rosa?”

Q grinned again, and Bond was taken aback by how much… Not younger, because he was already that, but carefree it made him look. It was stunning.

“She’s been around since I was a kid. She takes care of Audrey for me when I’m not here. She likes you,” Q added.

“She thinks I fell out of a tree.”

“It’s endearing.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Well, I’d _stick_ to espionage if I were you.”

“Really, I was thinking of branching out?”

“You’re barking mad, Bond.”

Bond was chuckling and Q’s face was lit up again, their eyes meeting over the room.

 “It’s true, I couldn’t leave. I’d miss yew.”

Q’s smile slowly dropped and he patted Audrey’s stomach gently before lifting her head off his lap and onto the floor and stood.

“I’m afraid I can’t beat that pun, Bond.”

Bond sensed the change in the room and knew that, somehow, he’d broke a boundary he didn’t know existed. He searched for another topic, suddenly not wanting Q to leave.

“How did my stuff get here?”

“Moneypenny dropped it round. With a message from Mallory saying we’ve both got a week off at minimum. He feels bad about how the job ended. He also said that we’re both to stay around here, in case either of us needs to be contacted. I hope that’s not too restricting for you?”

“Of course not, Q,” Bond said, taken aback by Q’s over-politeness. “I’m the one staying in your house, remember?”

“It’s no trouble. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go to bed.” Q turned to Audrey, who had started snoring softly on the rug. “I don’t have the heart to wake her up. Can she stay here for the night? She won’t move until eight in the morning.”

“If that’s easiest, Q, it’s fine.”

Q nodded and walked to the door. The silence was uncomfortable.

“Q,” Bond said. “Are you OK?”

Q looked at Bond, something passing across his face before Bond could identify it.

“Of course, Bond. Why wouldn’t I be? First door on the right if you need anything. Sleep well, I’ll come get Audrey in the morning.”

He left without another word. A few moments later, Bond heard him moving around his room on the other side of the wall. Bond let out a sigh and pulled the curtains closed before changing into pyjama pants. Even though the house was so large, it was constantly warm, and he made a mental note to ask Q how it worked tomorrow.

Q…

The man was a puzzle. But a puzzle Bond was intent on solving. Or at least, until he saw him smile again.

 

 ***

 

Bond woke quickly again, his senses already sorting through what had triggered him awake. He held his breath and sorted through his mind. He couldn’t see anything in the pitch-black room, and the only smell was of clean linen and the warm scent of an animal nearby. Audrey huffed in her sleep, but Bond remained tensed, it wasn’t the dog that had woken him. He held his breath, and only in the absence of his own inhalations did he make out something, on the very edge of his hearing. It wasn’t quite a whimper, and it rose and fell in time with someone else’s breaths, so the sound wasn’t made consciously. He listened harder, trying to pinpoint it, at the same time he snuck his hand out of the blankets and stretched until he caught the cord of the light. He tensed his muscles, ready to spring out of bed, and turned on the light.

The room was empty.

He got out of bed and made his way around the walls of his room, but he couldn’t hear anything that resembled the sound he’d heard before. He made his way around the wardrobe, and then into the bathroom, pausing on the tiles.

Just the smallest inhale that had caught in someone’s throat.

Not someone, Bond realised, staring at the locked door in the bathroom.

Bond stood in the bathroom until his feet were numb and the cold crept up his legs, but he didn’t hear the sound again.


	3. Saturday Morning

 

Explosions bloomed in front of him and Bond felt the heat rush past his face.

The doctor had been in the building when the bomb went off, there was no chance of escape. Bond turned and ran. He could still save the girls. It didn’t all have to be lost.

They were waiting at three safe houses across the city, bags packed, ready to be picked up as soon as Bond had arranged a rendezvous point with the plane that would take them safely across the Channel. Bond headed to the closest one, just a few kilometres away, sprinting through the black streets, the clouds of ash from the explosion taking over the rainclouds that blocked out the moon. Bond was grateful for the dark, he was in his element. He soon arrived in the street and edged towards the house. A door banged in front of him and he raced forward, gun already in his hand, waiting for the chance to be used. But the door was only banging in the wind.

Bond crept into the house and looked into all the rooms, calling the oldest daughter’s name softly, but he knew it was hopeless before he even found the body, a single shot through her forehead, her beautiful blonde hair matted with blood.

Moments later he was back in the street and smashed the window of a car, hotwiring it so the engine started and the alarm stopped. He could just make out the sirens of emergency vehicles that wailed through the night as they rushed to the scene of the explosion. Bond pushed the accelerator to the floor, not bothering about keeping quiet, and only braked when he reached the second house. He moved through it slowly, and found the exact same thing. The middle daughter was propped against the back of the couch, she’d been hiding when her attacker’s found her. Bond took a second to look at the broken body, taking in the strange angle of her neck, her knees thrown to the side, her hand clenched around… He knelt and extracted his ear-piece from the girl’s hand. He’d left it with her, giving her instructions to keep talking to whoever was on the other end, either Q or R, and tell them if something happened. He slipped it into his ear, and heard the sound of typing, accompanied by hushed voices.

“Q?”

“Bond!”

Q’s voice was flooded with relief.

“Report now. What’s happened? Susie said she thought someone was in the house and she was supposed to find a hiding place-”

“She’s dead. So’s Margaret and the doctor. You need to send a team to Anna’s house now. We can still save her.”

“Bond…”

“I can save her! Get Matthis on the line! Anyone!”

Bond talked as he ran outside and jumped in the car, zooming off down the street. He heard Q in his ear, ordering people to do as Bond had said, trying to get in contact with anyone in the area, changing the pick-up location so it was closer to the last safe house.

“007, which car are you in? I’m trying to track you, but the ash clouds are making the satellite coverage grainy.”

“I’m just in a car off the street, Q. Is anyone with Anna?”

“Not yet. They’re close, though. Keep driving.”

Bond pushed the car even harder, tyres squealing as he spun it round impossibly tight corners. He was five minutes away from the house.

“Q…”

“None of ours are there yet. If you’re in the car I think you’re in, you’ll get there first. Be careful.”

“I was careful for two months, look where that got us,” Bond muttered.

“It got you this far. Just a few more blocks, Bond. Come on!”

Bond wrenched the steering wheel around the last corner and drove up onto the street. He saw a shadow of a man in one of the windows and he swore as he leapt out of the car.

“Q, they’re already here!”

“Back-up’s ten minutes away.”

“I don’t have ten minutes!”

He ran through the house, focusing on speed rather than stealth. He skidded into the second bedroom and fired his gun. The man fired his at the same time and Bond waited for the blast of heat and pain of a bullet, but he only heard the sound of the attacker slump to the wooden floor. He stepped into the room and saw Anna. She was lying on the ground, only a few metres away from the man. Blood completely covered her torso, already spreading on the floor. The slight rise and fall of her chest was the only sign that she was alive. Bond knelt beside her and pressed on the gunshot wound with one hand, even though he knew it was hopeless, and took her tiny fingers in his other.

“Anna?”

Her eyes flickered open, but didn’t completely focus on him.

“Anna? It’s me. Can you hear me?”

She opened her mouth as the shaking started.

“Mr Bond?”

“That’s right, Anna. Keep talking, sweetheart.”

“Where’s Dad, Mr Bond?”

“He’s coming for you,” Bond lied through his teeth. “He’s just around the corner with Susie and Margaret and I’m taking you all to England. But only if you keep talking.”

Anna looked at him, with the innocence and the bluntness that only a child could get away with.

“No they’re not, Mr Bond. But that’s OK.”

Bond didn’t know what to say.

“Mr Bond?”

“Yes, Anna?”

“When we were running from the people who wanted to hurt Dad, I was so scared. But I didn’t want to tell my sisters or Dad because they didn’t act scared. But I couldn’t sleep, even when we stayed somewhere really nice.” Her voice was breaking now, and a line of blood overflowed from her lips. Bond wiped it away gently with his thumb, still holding onto her hand. “But every time I was awake, you were awake, too. You were always watching over us, even at night, and then I wasn’t scared. Thank you, Mr Bond.”

She raised her hand and lay it on his cheek. She was so cold, and so pale as the bullet wound emptied her.

“I hope someone’s watching over you,” she whispered. Bond found himself blinking back tears, trying to swallow through the lump in his throat. Her hand hit the floor and Bond stared at the body of one of the bravest people he’d ever known.

“She’s gone,” Bond said into the ear-piece.

“You did everything you could, 007.” When Bond didn’t reply, Q continued. “The plane is only a few minutes out-”

“I don’t want it.”

“Bond-”

Bond ripped out the ear-piece and stepped on it, the crunching sound not nearly as satisfying as he thought it would be. He waited until he could hear the engines of the back-up’s cars and then slipped out the backdoor. He hotwired another car on the street and took off down the road, driving past the exploded building, which was now taped off, to lose the satellite image in the clouds. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator again, not caring where he ended up. He was prepared to drive all night, but another explosion blew the car from around him, and he landed on the road, on fire and yelling. Next to him he saw the four bodies of the people he was meant to protect, one charred beyond recognition, one broken in a horrid way. Anna’s eyes were staring at him. Bond rolled over, trying to get away from them, but they were on his other side, too. A flaming piece of metal landed on his hand and he felt the wet, warm rush of blood.

“No.”

What was happening? He couldn’t escape it, as another warm strip rolled up his arm. He tried to breathe, but smoke filled his lungs. He tried to yell, but it was muffled on the burning road.

“No!”

Bond sat up straight in bed, drenched in sweat, feeling his body shake away the nightmare as he gulped in the clean air. A dream. It may have been a memory, but it was only a dream. But even as the thought went through his head, he felt the warm, wet pressure on his hand again and he spun around on the bed, facing his assailant, ready to hurt, ready to kill.

Audrey looked back at him calmly with her big brown eyes, before licking his hand again. Bond looked at her for a long while before finally relaxing, leaning over so he could pat her. She stopped licking him and enjoyed the attention. It was early morning, weak sunlight just filtering through the curtains enough so that Bond could distinguish the vague outlines of the dresser and the door. Everything was as it should be. He swung his legs out of bed and headed for the shower, knowing that there was no point in trying to get back to sleep. Audrey eyed him until he closed the bathroom door, and Bond heard her settle back on the rug.

The warm water washed over him and he let it clear his mind. He always got bad dreams after a job like that, it came with the territory. Both drinking himself till he blacked out, or taking strangers to bed roughly and impersonally helped quell the post-mission demons, but this time he’d had neither, and so the dreams had returned. It could only be expected. As he dried himself, careful not to dislodge the bandages on his back, he heard Q moving around next door, and he thought of the sounds that had awoken him earlier in the night. He pulled his clothes on and decided not to mention it to Q, it was probably nothing.

When he was dressed he settled on the rug with Audrey and petted her until Q knocked on the door. Light was now pouring through the gap between the opened curtains and it hit Q’s face as it entered the room, drawing out his cheekbones and shimmering off his emerald eyes, making him look ethereal with his pale skin and sculpted face. It also made the deep black bruises under both his eyes stand out and Bond wondered how much sleep got, even when he wasn’t working. He was momentarily caught off guard before Audrey moved under his hand, standing up and rubbing her face against Q’s leg.

“Morning, Bond.”

“Good morning, Q.”

“Did you sleep well?”

Bond hesitated.

“Mostly. Audrey woke me up.”

Q frowned, and looked down at Audrey.

“Did she? Has she seemed sick? Usually she just settles in for the night and sleeps until breakfast. I wonder if I should take her to the vets again…”

Audrey just wagged her tail and butted Q again.

“Unless… Oh.” Q looked at Bond. “You were having a dream.”

Bond nodded slowly, unsure of how Q knew, but also unwilling to admit to his nightmares.

“She’s trained,” Q explained. “To wake someone if they’re in an aggravated dream space. She’s surprisingly quick at picking things up, even for a dog, and she was always good with emotions. She can tell if someone’s uncomfortable.” Q patted her and looked at her, adoration clear in his face. “She’s very special.” Q looked at Bond, and his voice dropped to a more serious tone. “It’s not a weakness, Bond. Psych wouldn’t let you back out in the field if you didn’t dream, it means your mind is still working and processes missions and actions you had to take during them. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Only the thought of the small intakes of breath he’d heard coming from the Quartermaster’s room stopped Bond from lashing out at Q, but all the same, his voice was sharp as he replied.

“If you’re quite done, Quartermaster.”

Q bowed his head as Audrey shifted her weight on her legs.

“Of course. Breakfast?”

Q lead the way, letting Audrey into her make-shift elevator and opening the door into the garden on the ground floor before taking Bond back up to the room he’d met Theresa and Cass in the morning before.

They ate in relative silence until Theresa walked in and starting fussing over Bond, piling on more toast, fetching another pot of tea, ensuring he’d had enough hot breakfast. By the time Bond had eaten enough to convince Theresa he was going to make it to lunch, the sun was shining warmly through the glass window. Bond could make out slightly more of the extensive gardens than he’d seen yesterday, and Theresa hinted that Q should take Bond for a tour.

“You’ll adore the gardens, James. Jasper used to spend so much time in them, I think he knows them better than anyone.”

“I’d love to see them,” Bond said, helpfully. Theresa looked at Q, who nodded. Ten minutes later Q was leading Bond outside.

Audrey met them at the door and loped between them, snuffling at the grass around her. Bond expected them to head for the winding paths closest to the house, but instead Q walked around the back of the massive building and stopped at a gate to a grassed and sheltered courtyard. He opened it and held his hand up, signalling for Bond to stay where he was. Audrey came up to them slowly and gave Q one of the most heartbreaking looks Bond had ever seen.

“In you go, Audrey.”

She turned her huge, pleading eyes to Bond, who looked back at Q.

“Audrey.”

This time Q’s voice was the Quartermaster’s, using a tone Bond recognised well. He usually heard it a second after Q worked out Bond’s alternate plan for the mission. It was a warning and a threat, laced with authority. It was also incredibly sexy. Audrey shuffled into the courtyard and Q closed the gate. Bond could feel her eyes on them until they turned the corner.

“Dogs aren’t allowed in the gardens?” Bond guessed.

“Hardly. But they’re extensive and she can’t keep up. I hate locking her up like that, but last time she followed me for hours and pulled out her stitches. I can’t risk her not healing again.”

There was a touch of sadness in Q’s voice and Bond felt himself wanting to fix it, but he didn’t know how. Instead he turned his attentions to the grounds around them.

They were, unsurprisingly, extraordinarily beautiful.

Q led him through a small forest, which housed a Japanese garden in the centre, a stream running underneath a small bridge, framed by cherry blossoms. They wandered through a rose garden, reds and whites outlined by deep maroons and astonishing blacks. Hedges surrounded the paths, some artistically shaped, some pruned to a perfect sphere. The stream was a constant through all the different patches. The paths seemed to continuously cross it, running beside it for a while before jumping over it with a few well-placed stones, or sometimes a stone bridge even Bond had trouble aging. They didn’t talk much, only the occasional comment, often about the nature they were walking through. Q seemed to have something on his mind, but Bond knew better than to ask. And Q was on Bond’s mind.

Bond had to admit that in the sunshine, out of the glare of MI6 that drained anybody’s face, Q was stunning. He walked with a grace that made him seem as if the ground welcomed his tread, and the sun played on his face, as it had that morning in Bond’s bedroom. Bond found himself staring as Q leaned over to smell a flower, or reach up to rub a leaf through his fingers.

A couple of hours later, they sat on a bench beneath a willow, its leaves stroking the stream as it ran past. Bond watched the tree gently dip the green branches in and out of the water, teasing it, and finally thought of a question he could ask.

“Q?”

“Bond.”

“You grew up in this house, didn’t you?”

Q looked away from the water and focused his attention Bond, who couldn’t help but notice that the deep, warm green of the trees around them couldn’t hold a candle to Q’s eyes.

“Yes. Well, I went to boarding school when I was fairly young, and then I was at University. But this is my childhood home.”

“Why did you spend so much time in the gardens?”

Q thought for a moment before answering.

“As I’m sure you could imagine, I found it hard to get along with people, and my family found me impossible to understand. I realised that either being out here, or in my room, was peaceful. A contrast to the rest of the house.”

Bond could picture it now. A young Q, still with glasses, wrapped up in a scarf and coat, sitting at this very bench, curled over a book, or a notepad, scribbling furiously as his brilliant mind thought of impossible things.

“Did your siblings go to boarding schools as well?”

Q nodded.

“They’re both incredibly intelligent, they just use it in different ways. Funnily enough, I get along with Cass more than I do with Benjamin.”

“Oh?” Bond wasn’t sure how much he could ask, but Q continued on anyway.

“Although Cass can be… unaware of how her actions could affect other people, Benjamin sees it and doesn’t care. If he decides something is wrong, or simply not worth his time, he tries to undermine it. He can’t take people as they are and if he thinks they should be different he’ll make his opinion very clear.”

“It sounds like you two have some...” Bond thought of a polite word. “Differences, then.”

Q looked back at the water.

“He decided I wasn’t worth his while a long time ago.”

Bond felt a piece of his heart go out to Q. He was never envious of family politics, not that he’d known any personally, but not getting along with your own brother certainly qualified on Bond’s list of things that probably weren’t good news. He also sensed there was an underlying story to Q’s comment and he desperately wanted to know. But he also realised that this was the first time Q had opened up to him, even if it was only a tiny amount, and he didn’t want to push something and have it disappear forever. He tried to be tactful.

“He’s wrong.”

Q looked at him again, this time with both eyebrows raised. After a pause he opened his mouth, just as his message tone went off.

Bond knew better than to expect Q to not be connected to a piece of technology, he’d figured out yesterday that Q kept his work phone in pocket at all times, but the phone Q pulled out of his layers of clothing wasn’t one Bond recognised. He watched Q slide his thumb across the screen and type in a password before freezing. Bond tensed, his body immediately expecting an attack.

The blood rushed out of Q’s face where it had been warmed by the sun, leaving Q looking almost sickly, making the bags under his eyes much more prominent. It took ten seconds for Q to breathe again, and another five for him to wrench his eyes away from the screen. He looked at the grass again before standing. Bond stood too, eyeing him carefully.

“Q?”

Q faced him, a perfect mask efficiently dropping into place.

“I’m starving. Lunch?”

Q strode off in the direction of the house. Bond caught up quickly and was about to ask Q again when the message tone went off for the second time. Q looked at his phone and Bond noticed his hands were shaking slightly. Something was very wrong. Bond had seen those hands solder and create and disassemble and type in a range of circumstances no one would classify as calming, and yet here Q was, shaking from a couple of texts.

“Q?” He tried, but Q ignored him and picked up his pace.

Just as the courtyard at the back of the house came into view, the phone went off again. Q glanced at it, and the pale colour of his cheeks faded to a light green.

“Q-”

Q just kept walking. He went straight to the gate, where Audrey was whining impatiently. As soon as the gate was open she went straight to Q and burrowed her face into his stomach. Q whispered sweet nothings just out of Bond’s hearing into Audrey’s ear, and absently touched his torso, on the left hand side, just on his ribs. After a moment, Q turned around, keeping a hand on Audrey’s back, and waved Bond into the house. Q put Audrey into her elevator, and went briskly to a room on the first floor. He opened the door and a mouth-watering smell hit them. Theresa and Cass were already seated at the lunch table, and both smiled as they saw the door open.

“I’m afraid something’s come up with work, Mother. I’ll have to give lunch a miss. If you’ll excuse me.” Q stepped back from the door and shut it behind him, leaving Bond in the room. At once the two woman pounced on Bond, begging him to sit down and have some bread and butter. Bond nodded at them courteously, but his mind was on Q, and how he’d brushed his ribs again as he’d closed the door.

 


	4. Saturday Afternoon

 

Bond waited outside Q’s door, his arm raised to knock, but he couldn’t convince himself to bring his knuckles to the wood. Whatever had happened, whatever those texts had said, it was bad. Bond knew fear. He knew fear of pain and death and failure, as well as grief and loss, and he knew what it looked like when the world was kicked out from underneath your feet. His mind bought Q’s face in front of him, the colour running from it, the shaking hands. It seemed that Q knew fear as well. Maybe… Maybe Q would want to talk about it, now he’d had a moment to calm down and think. Bond knew he, at least, would understand better than most…

Bond inhaled and was about to knock as the door opened from the inside, just enough for Audrey and Q to slip out. Bond caught a flash of electronic equipment before the door shut, and Q faced him in the corridor. His skin was still pale, but he looked more collected than previously. Q waited for him to speak, his hand automatically finding Audrey’s head as the dog leant on his leg.

“Cass was hoping we could help out at her place this afternoon. She said she has a few boxes of things she wants bought over here.”

“Of course,” Q said, already walking down the corridor.

 ***

An hour later Bond was at Cass’s ex-partner’s lavish apartment on the outskirts of London. It was expensive and modern and most of the furnishings had Bond cringing, but he loaded boxes into Q’s red Peugeot Coupe and tried to ignore Cass’s seductive glances. They’d driven two cars over in the end. Q claimed they could all fit in his car, along with the few boxes, but Cass insisted on bringing her Stingray ‘just in case’. Bond found himself hauled into the passenger seat of the black car, and listened to Cass chatter on about nothing for the whole drive. She was in interesting person, but remarkably transparent in her actions, lacking Q’s wit which kept Bond on his toes. Q drove behind them, and Bond swore he could feel his eyes on the back of his head for the whole time.

Cass flitted about the apartment, throwing a few last items into open boxes near the door, neatly avoiding any of the lifting. She was currently going over the second floor, rummaging through cupboards to track down a pair of shoes. Bond tried to find something to fill the silence.

“So what’s your apartment like?”

“Well,” Q said as he taped up another box. “Nothing as flashy as this. As you can imagine, I don’t spend much time there.”

“Same,” Bond volunteered. “I’m usually out of the country too much to actually move in properly. There’s not much point in unpacking when you’re not going to be there to enjoy it.”

Q looked up at him.

“You should unpack. Maybe you’d enjoy it more if it felt like it was actually yours.”

Bond shrugged. He’d never considered it that way.

“Maybe.”

They were quiet for another few minutes, until Q picked up one of the larger boxes and groaned.

“Oh God, Bond can you help me with this one? She must have paved the bottom with concrete.”

Bond reached out to grab half of the box as Q tried to balance it in his grip, wrapping his arms under it, and then nearly dropping it as he felt his palm lay over Q’s.

“Shit, sorry.”

“Just carry the box, Bond.”

They manoeuvred it out the door and into the open boot of the Coupe. When they finally got it sitting straight they both leant against the back of the car, taking a rest – Bond’s back was beginning to sting and Q wasn’t used to heavy-lifting. Between Bond’s military training and Q’s absurdly good ability to organise as many things to fit into their specified place as possible, Q’s tiny boot was only half-full. They mightn’t have needed Cass’s car after all. Bond hoped Q wasn’t adverse to driving back with him, he didn’t think he could stand another trip with only Cass for company. After a few breaths, Bond realised how close they were, his arm only centimetres from Q’s.

“If you needed a hand,” Q said slowly, “to unpack, feel free to let me know.”

Bond was taken aback, at first by the offer, and then at the thought of Q in his drab flat. Would he like Bond’s book collection, or think it outdated? Would he stay for dinner? Would he stay for longer? Bond looked again at Q’s red lips, his face tinged pink from exertion. He felt himself drawn to Q’s tongue as it wet his mouth, and his green, green eyes which seemed momentarily unsure. Bond felt his body leaning minutely closer, wanting to press against Q’s slender form, wanting to feel that pale skin under his fingertips. He leant forward a tiny bit more and Q did too, their faces almost touching. Bond could feel Q’s warm breath and his eyelids slid down, covering those beautiful eyes for a second before they flew open and Q stepped back, inhaling sharply. Bond froze.

“I- I’m so sorry, Bond. I just- That was incredibly unprofessional. I apologise.”

Bond’s automatic reply was to reassure him, but he felt the bite of rejection much clearer than he would have anticipated. It surprised him, and his mind drew away from considering it too deeply. They walked back inside, just as Cass reappeared on the stairs.

“James, could I get you up here, please? There’s a box that I simply can’t move- oh.”

She looked past them, through the window. Bond turned and saw another car enter the driveway.

“It’s Adam. Oh, I really don’t want to speak with him...” Cass looked at Q pointedly.

“I’ll go,” Q said, walking back towards the front door.

“Thanks Jasper! James, would you mind?”

Bond turned his back on Q and trailed Cass up the stairs and down a long corridor, ending up in the master bedroom. All of Adam’s possessions were strewn over the bedside table on the right hand side of the massive bed, Cass’s side was already empty.

“Just that box there,” Cass said, pointing to one near the wardrobe. Bond nodded and walked over. Cass followed him.

“You know, James,” Cass purred, placing her hand on Bond’s forearm. “I really wanted to thank you for this. I know that you’re having a holiday, but I never could have done it without you.”

Bond knew he should pull away and his mind screamed at him as his hands went to Cass’s waist, pulling her closer instead. Their mouths met and she gasped against him, surging their bodies into each other. She slipped her hands under his jacket and he tensed before remembering that he wasn’t wearing his gun. They moved together easily, guiding themselves till they were touching the wall where Bond caught her scented wrists and pulled them above her head, kissing down the length of her neck. She surrendered herself, and wrapped an ankle around the back of his thigh. Her head thudded onto the wall the same time Bond heard a sound behind them. They both whirled to face the door, where Q stood, stricken. Bond immediately released Cass and stepped away, explanations dying on his lips. Cass just straightened up her skirt and smoothed her hair.

“Adam just wanted to give you his spare key.” Q dropped it on the floor at his feet, the carpet muting the thump. “I’ll take my car back to Mum and Dad’s. It can’t fit anything else in it.”

Bond watched him walk away, and listened to the Coupe’s engine fading as it drove quickly down the road, with only a half-full boot.

“I guess these will have to go in my car, then. Good thing we bought two!” When Bond didn’t move she patted his arm. “Don’t worry about Jasper. He’s been a bit odd about couples since he and his boyfriend broke up two years ago. I’ll open the car, shall I?”

They packed the rest of the boxes into the Stingray’s almost non-existent backseat, and drove back to the parent’s house. It was dark by the time they got there and Bond noticed the absence of Q’s car in the underground garage immediately. They had arrived just in time for dinner and Theresa explained that Q had deposited the boxes quickly before driving out again, saying something about work.

“And this is meant to be a rest for him!” Theresa said, looking upset. But the conversation was steered onto something else and Q’s absence was soon forgotten by the females. Except Bond stared at the empty chair, tasting none of the food that went into his mouth, feeling absolutely wretched. As soon as dinner was done he excused himself and went to his room. He lay back on the bed and gazed at Van Gogh’s Starry Night, completely lost.

 


	5. Sunday Morning

 

Bond closed his suitcase.

He hadn’t slept. He couldn’t.

His mind was skipping not only over the past day – Q hesitantly leaning forward, Q’s face in the doorway, Q driving away, Q not coming home the entire night – but the day before as well. He knew Q was a very private person, so much so that he would prefer Bond to meet his family rather than take him to his own house, but he’d taken Bond in anyway. Given him the necessities of food and shelter, and also company which seemed to calm him faster than any other post-mission process he’d endured or attempted. He’d shown Bond his life. And Bond had thanked him by kissing his sister. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d done, but the guilt had settled in the bottom of his stomach, and listening for Q’s non-existent footsteps all night hadn’t helped.

No, he’d done enough damage. He would go.

But there was a small voice in the back of his mind that supplied him two vital facts. The first was what Cass had said about Q’s previous partner. What had happened? Bond’s curiosity was piqued by the fact that it was also Q. He liked Q. More than a Quartermaster. Q was… safe. Bond realised, at about three in the morning, he desperately wanted Q to like him as well.

He should definitely go.

He opened the door and stepped into the hall, making his way towards the ground level exit. He would walk back to London, the thought of taking someone’s car from the underground garage nauseated him. Not bothering to turn any of the lights on, he made his way through the darkness, the soft carpet in the corridors silencing any sounds. He turned a corner into the staircase, and walked straight into something very solid.

It only took Bond a moment to realise that it was a person, and another moment to recognise that he wasn’t under attack. In the third moment, he dropped his suitcase whilst leaning forward and grabbed a flailing wrist to stop the person from falling backwards down the stairs. A hiss of pain echoed along the walls and the person, having regained their balance, wrenched their arm from Bond’s hand, stepped back, and turned on a light.

It was Q.

A very dishevelled and shaken Q.

Bond took in the scruffed-up hair and the spot of blood on his bottom lip. He saw the bruise on the wrist that Q put behind his back a second too late. He saw three dark fingerprints decorate the side of Q’s pale neck, and his world turned red. He could barely speak and when he did, it was not much more than a growl.

“Who?”

“Leave it, Bond.”

Q winced slightly as he spoke, but it was in the Quartermaster’s tone, demanding compliance.

“You can’t possibly think that you can disappear for a night, come back looking like that, and not have me ask questions!”

“Can’t I?” Q didn’t raise his voice and it made it worse. “I think you’ve shown explicitly that you don’t give a fuck, Bond. You think you have the right, the leave, to tell me what I can and can’t do? This has nothing to do with you. So just forget it.”

They stared at each other, both waiting for the next move to be made. Q’s shoulders sagged as he exhaled and looked down, his eye catching the suitcase near Bond’s foot.

“And where are you going?”

“I thought it was best that I leave.”

Q studied him briefly before walking past him towards his bedroom.

“Go to sleep, Bond. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Against Bond’s better judgement, he followed. After all, when his Quartermaster gave him a direct order, who was he to ignore it?

Besides, it seemed Q might need someone to watch over him almost as much as Bond did.

 

 ***

 

Bond unpacked slowly, far too wound up to try and sleep. He briefly considered how he can fall asleep when surrounded by gunfire but the mere thought of Q’s mottled skin kept him wide awake, and then decided not to reflect too deeply. Bond also resolved not to let Q out of his sight for the next week. If Q wanted to go to ‘work’, like he’d told Theresa, fine. But Bond would go with him.

Satisfied, he sat down on the bed before jumping up again. A hoarse scream ripped through the air.

Seconds later, he was outside Q’s locked door, holding his gun.

“Q?”

“I’m sorr- Please, don’t!”

“Q!”

Another shout came from under the door.

Bond didn’t want to shoot the lock, or break the door down. If there was an attack on the house, it would alert the enemy and the house was too big to defend by himself. His mind span as he tried to think… Then it hit him: the bathroom door! He sprinted back up the corridor and threw himself against the key, turning it and wrenching the door open so hard it almost fell off its hinges. His spare hand scrabbled at the wall until it found a switch, and the room was flooded with light.

Thoughts flashed through his mind.

Gun. Q. Scared Q. Terrified. Holding gun. Pointing it at him. Room otherwise empty. Q wasn’t wearing his glasses. He was also shirtless, ribs clearly showing. Bond noticed a long scar down his left side lying across his ribcage. The bruises from his neck travelled beneath his up over his shoulder blade and onto his back, another group made a bracelet around his wrist.

“Q, are you OK?”

Q was squinting, and relaxed minutely when he heard Bond’s voice before tensing again. He lay the gun on the bedside table next to him and picked up his glasses. When he could see, he looked back at Bond.

“Put your gun down, Bond. I’m fine.”

Bond did as he was told, flipping the safety on and pocketing it.

“You were yelling.”

“It’s nothing worth thinking about, I can assure you.”

“Then why don’t I feel assured?”

Bond let his eyes wander, Q’s room’s layout was similar to his own, but much more personalised. Desks and bookcases lined the walls, all filled with technology that blinked at him innocently, and books. Hundreds and hundreds of books.

“Really, everything’s fine, Bond. You can go.”

Bond looked back at Q, who had gotten out of bed. He turned his back on Bond as he picked up a jumper and slid it over his head, but not before Bond saw the remaining bruises and angry red marks that stretched down Q’s back and collected at the nape of his neck. Bond took an involuntary step forward.

“Shit, Q.”

Q looked at him, challenging him to say another word.

“What…” Bond paused, trying to organise his thoughts. “Tell me what I can do?”

“I don’t need you to do anything.”

“Q-”

“Don’t. Just, don’t.”

Q looked at the clock.

“I’m going to have a shower, and then it’ll be breakfast time. I’ll knock on your door in half an hour.”

Bond recognised a dismissal when he heard one and walked back into the bathroom. He put the key in the lock, but didn’t turn it, keeping it unlocked from both sides.

Just in case.

 

 ***

 

Bond didn’t think it could get any worse. But that was before Benjamin showed up. Theresa had been flitting about happily that morning when they walked into the breakfast room, both looking a little worse for wear, and announced that since two-thirds of the family were here, she’d invited Benjamin to come over for the day. Q’s older brother, his wife, and their two children arrived shortly after. Bond hated him the moment he stepped through the door.

“Mother, how are you? Is there a kettle somewhere, I’m dying for some tea. Ah, Cass! Shame about Adam, but you’re too good for him anyway. You look splendid!”

His wife stood proudly beside him. Bond had to admit she was gorgeous, but she also carried a selfish air that set Bond’s teeth on edge. The children were twins and sat quietly at the table, allowing Theresa to fuss over them. It took Benjamin a whole five minutes before he turned to face Q, who was seated at the opposite side of the room, wearing a long jacket and scarf to hide the bruising.

“Ah. Jasper.” Benjamin unsubtly looked him up and down.

“Benjamin, how are you?”

“Brilliant. Got the Styler case sorted. It was in The Times, if you can drag yourself away from your computers long enough to look at a hard copy. The BBC have asked for an interview as well.”

“Congratulations,” Q said before turning to Bond to explain. “Benjamin is a criminal lawyer. Benjamin, this is James. James, Benjamin, his wife Josephine, and their children, Evelyn and Andrew, who are six.”

“And a half,” they chorused back.

“And a half,” Q amended seriously.

“Are you Jasper’s new… friend?”

The question was directed at Bond, but Q answered it before Bond got a chance.

“No, James and I aren’t together. He’s a work colleague.”

“Charmed,” Benjamin said, shaking Bond’s hand.

“Likewise.”

Needless to say, lunch was a tense affair.

Benjamin seemed to not be able to direct a comment at Q without saying something derogative, changing topics smoothly from his job to his clothing in a heartbeat. Q mostly kept his head down, brushing off the worst ones and ignoring the rest. But it wasn’t until Q asked Benjamin to pass the cheese when it started getting really bad.

“I have to say Jasper, since you’re so intent on only dating males, I was going to say that James here seemed like a better choice than your last one. What was it? Stanley, Sam?”

“Steven,” Q said warningly.

“Yes, him. God, he was unbearable sometimes. But he had this air of authority about him, he knew what to demand from other people, even I had to respect him for that. And at least he had a proper job, I thought that maybe he would’ve influenced you into trying something bigger than whatever you were doing, but no, you broke up with him and moved to that book place you’re at now.”

“It’s a publishing firm.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s hardly worth your Oxford degrees. I never thought a brother of mine would be such a waste.”

The rest of the table had gone silent.

“I paid back every cent of my education to Father, when you and he decided that I hadn’t chosen the correct career path, as you well know, Benjamin.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about monetary waste, Jasper. Just the air you breathe.”

Bond’s hand clenched into a fist around his butter knife, his arm wanting to tense, aim, and throw. He stifled a jump as a leg pressed against his, cautioning him against any reaction.

“Josephine, how are the children doing at school?”

Theresa moved the conversation into less dangerous waters and gave the flaunting parents a chance to brag. Q excused himself as soon as the last cutlery was laid down and didn’t complain when Bond followed him. They collected Audrey from outside and walked back to Bond’s room in silence.

“Bloody prat,” Q said as Bond closed the door.

“That’s putting it lightly.”

Q slumped onto the bed, and winced as the mattress bounced his bruises. Audrey whined before settling onto her mat again.

“It’s only because he knows I’m smarter than him. He could never stand to be the second most intelligent person in the room.”

Unlike his siblings, Q didn’t boast. What he said was simply true. Bond sat on the bed next to him, keeping a careful distance.

“If they knew, Q... If they knew you run the security for the country, that you’re one of the best programmers in the world, that you’ve defended England-”

“They probably wouldn’t believe it,” Q said grimly.

Bond was silent, once again finding himself not knowing how to react.

“You know what’s ironic, Bond? I’ve written emails to the House of Lords. Corresponded with my Father about matters of national safety. And I’ll be damned if I haven’t followed all my brother’s cases since he became as sought-after as he is now. I’m so proud of him. If he stopped for a second, he might even notice it.”

Q gazed into the carpet, hoping it might cough up some answers.

“We’re proud of you,” Bond murmured. “At MI6. We all know what you do, and how much it affects you and changes you, and we all agree that you’re our strongest link. I would be dead twenty times over if it wasn’t for your voice in my ear, Q. I know we’re not blood, but MI6 is the family you don’t have to keep secrets from.”

Q stared at him incredulously, barely able to believe what he heard, much less who it was coming from. Bond shuffled his feet before clearing his throat.

“So, Oxford, huh? Could’ve guessed it.”

“Sure thing, Bond.”

“Do you have any crazy uni stories?”

Q’s tense mask finally broke into a smile which Bond delighted in, especially since he caused it.

“None that you’d believe.”

“Try me.”

 


	6. Sunday Evening

 

They talked well into the afternoon, Bond bringing forth as many of Q’s laughs as he could, and rejoicing in every one. He noticed how the smallest chuckle lit up the Quartermaster’s face, and revelled in the opportunity to cause such exquisiteness. The sun circled around the room, moving the shadows from Bond’s face onto Q’s. Audrey slept soundly on the floor, relaxed in her owner’s company. It wasn’t until red tail-lights of a departing car could be seen through the window did Q finally move, looking almost wistfully after the car before minutely shaking his head. Bond felt a pull in his stomach and was about to continue their current conversation when Q’s phone rang. Bond tensed, expecting a repeat of yesterday, but Q pulled out his work-phone and smoothly put it to his ear.

“Q.”

He listened for a moment, his expression darkening.

“I understand… Yes, of course. Right away, sir.”

He hung up the phone and stood up, stretching his arms above his head and recoiling as his injuries pulled.

“Tanner?” Bond asked, standing too. Audrey sensed the movement and made to get up, but Q knelt and put a hand on her back reassuringly.

“No, M. We’re both needed in as soon as possible. Are you ready to go?”

Bond glanced towards the suitcase which he’d only unpacked this morning.

“Give me five minutes.”

“Perfect, I need to organise some things here. I’ll knock on your door soon.”

Q petted Audrey’s head before stepping into the corridor and closing the door softly behind him. Bond sighed, gave Audrey a pat of his own, and opened the wardrobe.

 

 ***

 

Fifteen minutes later, suitcase in hand, Q walked through a door into a library room Bond hadn’t been in before. Q ignored the walls of books and wooden ladders and staircases, and went straight to a group of lounge chairs situated near a gas-fire. Theresa looked up as they approached and placed her book on an end-table.

“Jasper?”

“Sorry Mum, worked called and we’re both needed in right away.”

She stood up, frowning.

“On a Sunday afternoon? It can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“What about your houses? Isn’t the asbestos still there?”

“We’ll just get a hotel. I’m sorry, we really have to be off.”

Q hugged her quickly and stepped back, allowing Bond to offer is hand.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Theresa.”

“Anytime, James. I wish you both could have stayed for longer.”

“So do I.”

Bond gave her his most charming smile that had Q internally grimacing. If his mother knew what usually happened after Bond gave a woman that smile, holding his trademark martini delicately in one hand, her returned one wouldn’t be quite so warm. Q hurried them away and into the garage, loading Bond’s suitcase into the small boot of his Coupe. Bond jumped into the passenger seat while Q started the engine. Bond had guessed correctly Q didn’t want him to drive. It was only when they had stopped on the platform which ascended to ground level did Bond have a thought.

“Q, Audrey’s still in my room.”

The image of Q crouching down, lovingly running his long hands over Audrey’s fur once more, and pressing a soft kiss to her head with his red lips flashed through Bond’s mind. She’d licked Q’s cheek while he whispered his usual endearments. Bond had been far too distracted of the other images of Q’s hands and mouth his mind was too readily supplying to question Q when he’d shut Audrey into the room, leaving her upstairs.

“I told Rosa she was there. She’ll take care of her till I see her next.”

Bond nodded, satisfied.

Although he wouldn’t like to admit it, he was concerned over what would happen to the newfound casualness of his and Q’s relationship when they returned to MI6. Would Q return to his normal, private self, or would these last few days, or at least the good bits, resonate too strongly within him to ignore, as they did with Bond? Without needing to talk about it, he knew he was forgiven for the incident with Cass, and he’d also vowed to never upset Q again. He deserved more than that. Much more. Also, within their long conversation, neither he nor Q had broached the topic of his bruises, and although Q seemed calmer than he had the previous evening, Bond was not about to give up on his promise of keeping an eye on him, and if Q pushed him away at work, it would make it a lot harder. Not impossible, though.

Q didn’t talk in the car. If he was driving, he was paying attention to the road, and if he was a passenger he was happily wrapped up in his own thoughts. So Bond asked if he could turn on the radio, and then remained silent, enjoying the easy atmosphere between the two of them in case it was for the last time. Not knowing Q’s taste in music, he picked a station that played classics through the ages, singing along in his mind as he stared out the window, watching London creep back in to view. So he got a complete shock when a new song came on, and Q’s hand shot out and changed the channel. Bond looked at him in surprise, taking in his once-again pale face and how his hands clenched the wheel a little too tightly.

“Sorry,” Q said, giving Bond a quick, and totally unconvincing smile. “I can’t stand that song.”

“It’s fine, Q.”

They drove on with questions burning Bond’s lips.

 

 ***

 

They arrived at Headquarters a little over forty minutes later, and headed straight for M’s office. Eve had already gone home, but M and Tanner were waiting in his foyer. As they entered M looked Q up and down and ushered him into his office, asking Bond to wait outside with Tanner. Bond desperately wanted to ask, but Tanner chose that moment to talk about some adventure 009 had gotten herself wrapped up in Armenia of all places, which distracted Bond until M’s door opened for both of them to come in. Q was standing in a corner of the office, shrugging back into his coat and scarf, his eyes fixed on the floor. Out of courtesy, Bond stayed standing until Q was ready to take a seat. Tanner sat in the chair closest to M’s desk and handed a folder to Bond and Q each.

“As you know,” M began. “We’ve been tracing an international arms-dealer, a Mr Craig Indaschmal, for the past five months. Recently we’ve found evidence that ties him into a human-trafficking ring that works throughout Europe and the need to remove him from the scene has escalated towards dramatic action. We were already considering something of the kind, but with this new perspective it needs to be more than an assassination. We need what information he has and we need his contacts.” He nodded at them to open their files. “We have intelligence that he will be in Southern France in a fortnight in order to attend a conference to solidify his current cover, an entrepreneur working in international sales.” Bond grimaced at the sick irony. M looked at Q. “His tech can’t be accessed remotely. He uses a private network which is impenetrable from a remote location. He’s also using your safeguards.”

Bond took a moment to recall the last time he’d heard of them.

“Wasn’t that the system Silva used?” He looked at Q, too. “The one you invented?”

Q nodded, looking grim.

“I don’t like how many people have gotten hold of that, M. It’s meant to be one of the most protected pieces of computer technology on the planet.”

“We’re looking into that, I can assure you. But Indaschmal’s got it, and that’s the focus point now. I need you to go to France and gain access to his computer, find whatever files you can, and get out undetected. Am I correct in presuming no other persons in Q-branch could do this?”

“Yes sir.”

“You’ll leave tonight then. You can drive easily enough, but you’ll take a company car. Even a Peugeot would stand out in Indaschmal’s friendship group, I’m afraid.”

Q nodded again, closing the file and holding it close to his chest. Bond couldn’t believe it.

“You’ve got to be joking. You can’t send Q out there on his own! I know everyone gets basic field training, but he’s still an executive, he’s irreplaceable, and he shouldn’t be sent on a kill mission!”

Really, he should have seen it coming.

“I completely agree, 007. Which is why you’ll be going with him.”

M looked a little smug at finally being able to silence Bond.

“And that’s the second part of the mission. Tanner?”

“Sir. There is a slight problem with getting close to Indaschmal without sounding any alarms, and no Bond, you’re usual methods won’t work. He’s paranoid about his security, and that includes his wife and his daughter. They’re barely out of his sight, no matter if he’s on business or otherwise. Because of that, you two need a convincing cover.”

Bond could see where this was going. From the tension in Q’s face, he could too.

“Can’t we just trust 007 to control himself?” Q asked. Bond only felt mildly insulted.

“I’m afraid not. For this to be successful he’s got to be convinced that neither of you are even an option, much less a threat.”

“Can’t we keep to ourselves in our room? He never even has to see us.” Q was sounding a little desperate.

“Again, Q, I’m sorry, but no. He checks over every client of whatever establishment he’s staying in, and if he thinks you’re hiding, you’ll be suspected.”

“Isn’t there anythi-”

“God, Q,” Bond interrupted. “If you don’t want to have a pretend relationship with me, you can just say so. But it looks like it isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

Q looked affronted, before slipping into such a panic-stricken expression Bond immediately felt sorry for his jibe.

“M,” Q said, his voice wavering slightly. “I can’t. You know I can’t do this. I would rather get on an aeroplane, please!”

Bond stared at Q in disbelief. What the hell was going on?

“I’m sorry, Q,” M said firmly, but not unkindly. “We need it to get to Indaschmal.”

Q stood up, his chair scraping across the carpet, looking betrayed.

“Fine.” He inhaled. “Fine. R’s got everything ready, I presume. I’ll go pick it up.”

The door swung shut behind him.

Bond turned to M, who sighed, and shared a sigh and a nod with Tanner.

“Right,” M said to Bond. “What I’m going to tell you is only known by very few people in the world and should be kept that way, but unfortunately it’s now something you need to know. However, I will only tell you the basics, the rest is at Q’s discretion to tell you as he sees fit.”

Bond nodded, secrets were common at MI6.

“Q was in an… unsavoury relationship for two years when he joined MI6. My predecessor knew he was too valuable to let go, but he also couldn’t continue his relationship if he wanted to be Q, for several reasons. One of the conditions of him joining was ending it, which he did. But since then he’s never even looked for another relationship, as many victims don’t. I never thought to push the subject because it was convenient to the Service, and as you know, Q prefers to keep himself to himself.” M took a breath. “This mission is going to put him in a very difficult situation and I expect you to respect that.”

“Of course. Is there anything else I can do?”

“Listen to him, especially if he asks you to do something. He knows how to look after himself. Apart from that, I still hold him at the high professional standard he’s set for himself, and I don’t need to stress how important this mission is, Bond.”

Bond stood up and tucked the file beneath his jacket. He and Q would need to read it over carefully for their cover stories. He was about to excuse himself when he remembered Q dressing when he came into the office.

“His current bruises... Do they have anything to do with this?”

“Yes, but it’s dealt with,” M said with a dismissive tone.

“Thanks, M. Tanner.”

He turned to leave, but M had one more thing to say.

“Bond? Make you sure you bring him back in one piece.”

“I will.”

 

 ***

 

Bond’s mobile buzzed with an incoming text as he walked out of M’s foyer. It was Q telling him to go to the garage. As Bond walked down the stairs, he thought over everything M had said, and how it fitted into what he already knew. He had to admit, it made sense. Q’s family, who obviously didn’t know all the details, if any, pressing him into finding another relationship, Cass saying he wasn’t interested. How he’d pulled back from their almost-kiss. Other things surfaced to his mind, things he’d attributed to Q being careful around Bond’s post-mission tenseness. He’d always kept a cautious distance between them, moving slowly, suddenly going submissive or over-polite if Bond mightn’t have been happy, as if he wasn’t sure what Bond’s reaction would be. Not to mention Audrey’s specific training, and how she calmed Q.

Bond figured he could guess what Q’s nightmares were about now.

But there was still the question of why he’d gone back to, what was his name, Steven? It was devastatingly common for people to relapse into their past relationships, but it was usually within the first part of separation, not after nearly two years of not seeing each other… Q had received the texts from his ex in the morning, but hadn’t even replied. So what had… Oh.

Bond hated himself.

Q had tried to kiss him. Bond couldn’t even guess when the last time Q would’ve done that. And then he’d panicked, which was now completely justified. And not five minutes later, he’d walked in on Bond snogging his sister.

God, he was an idiot.

He opened the door into the garage and spotted Q leaning against a high-class vehicle, presumably suiting whatever hotel they would be staying at. Q looked at him as he approached, making sure his footsteps were heard. Q tensed as Bond opened his mouth. He knew M and Tanner must’ve told him. Bond, reading the situation, saved them in a moment.

“Do you want to drive first?”

Q visibly relaxed and threw the keys at Bond.

“I drove all the way here, remember? We can change after the Channel.”

Bond nodded and started the car. They had a fortnight to themselves at the hotel before Indaschmal arrived. He would figure something out. He’d have to.

 


	7. Monday Morning

 

Bond woke slowly to the feeling of the mattress under him and sheets wrapped around him. It felt like being surrounded by clouds. As disgusting a human being Indaschmal was, Bond had to grudgingly congratulate him on his expensive tastes, the hotel had gone above and beyond with their room, furnished with light creams and burning golds, interlaced with blackwood that stood out strongly from the other colours and textures. Bond and Q had circled the room, checking for bugs and updating security before Bond collapsed into the bed, sleep taking him instantly. Bond stretched before more coherent thoughts came to him.

Q had never come to bed last night.

He opened his eyes and sat up in a heartbeat, noticing the still tucked-in sheets on the opposite side of the massive king-sized bed. He looked around the room and spotted Q, curled up on the loveseat with his laptop sitting on his knees, dressed in the same clothes as the previous evening. He was gazing out the window, his fingers hovering above the keys. He looked like… Well, he looked like he usually did when Bond came back from a mission; exhausted, stressed, and run down. Bond could almost see the circles under his eyes darken as he watched.

“Morning.”

Q jumped and clutched his laptop to stop it falling from his lap. He took a breath to recover himself. Bond took in the reaction silently.

“Good morning, 007. Sleep well?”

“Yes, actually. You haven’t though.”

Q flicked his eyes back to his laptop and almost looked guilty.

“I had some work that needed to be completed.”

Bond swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked to the wardrobe.

“Was it a priority?”

“When isn’t it?”

“Something so important that you couldn’t sleep?”

Q squirmed uncomfortably on the couch, resolutely not looking as Bond grabbed a bathrobe and pushed his arms through the holes. He was only wearing his underwear and Q wanted to be anywhere else.

“Evidently.”

“Q-”

“May I suggest you take a tour of the area? I’ve looked over everything from CCTV but I’m sure in person you would be able to pick up something I can’t. Some breakfast wouldn’t go amiss, either.”

Bond nodded, and tried not to notice how Q’s eyes kept shifting towards the bed.

“Of course, Quartermaster. I’ll have a shower and go.”

He took his clothes with him into the bathroom. If Q was disturbed with him in his underwear, he didn’t want to scar the man by not wearing anything at all. Bond washed quickly, having already figured out Q’s plan. He dried and dressed, grabbed his phone and waved himself out the door, stopping for a moment and listening in at the keyhole. Like he expected the laptop powered down immediately and he followed Q’s footsteps from the couch across to the bed. There was a thwump as Q collapsed into it and his breathing evened out in seconds.

As he walked down the corridor, Bond berated himself. He should have known, or at least asked if Q was comfortable with sleeping in the same bed. He would’ve taken the couch gladly. Although, if Q hadn’t slept at all last night, it had to be more than that. The way Q had gone straight to sleep when he left implied that, bed or not, he just didn’t want to sleep if someone else was in the same room.

Bond sighed as he opened the door to outside, the French wind blowing on his face.

He would do better. He had to.

 

 ***

 

He scouted the hotel and the grounds as Q suggested, doing a more thorough job than he otherwise would have, as he tried to give Q a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. He also felt obliged to do so. His own safety wasn’t a matter for his concern, but having the Quartermaster under his protection drove his professionalism skywards, and looking after Q inspired him personally as well. He could look after himself is someone broke in, but he didn’t want to subject Q to the shock of an unwanted visitor. It was certainly a grand hotel, and it was already preparing for the conference in two weeks time. The five levels were kept meticulously clean both inside and out. The white-washed brick walls shone in the morning sun, highlighting the expensive architecture around the window frames. Bond held up a hand to block the sun whilst he counted the windows on the fourth floor until he found his and Q’s room, noticing Q hadn’t bothered to shut the curtains before he fell asleep. It was relatively protected from snipers, more so than the lower levels, but Bond thought it best not to risk it, and made a mental note to tell Q to steer clear of the windows. He looked another floor up and found what would be Indaschmal’s room. It was larger, as it would be housing his wife and daughter as well. The daughter’s window lined up with the corner of the building, skimming the roof where a particularly ugly gargoyle was planted, leering down at him. Bond looked back at it for a few moments before turning on his heel and walking away. He had better things to do than outstare immovable objects. He aimed for the road, where he could see anyone approaching from all directions before pulling out his phone and dialling the number for HQ. It picked up after only one ring.

“Bond?”

“Hello Eve. Just checking in.”

“And have you sufficiently terrorised the Quartermaster yet?

“No, I would never.”

The slight pause on the other end made Bond grimace. Joking. Of course Moneypenny was joking.

“Can I speak to M, please?”

Luckily Eve didn’t comment on his previous comment.

“Putting you through.”

Bond waited for another moment before he heard M’s voice.

“007. How’d the first night go?”

Bond silently thanked Q-branch’s efforts for the comfort of a secure line, as well as M’s to-the-point attitude.

“Not as well as I expected. Turns out Q won’t even sleep in the same room as someone, much less a bed. I’m outside at the moment, letting him get a few hour’s rest. But we’ll have to be seen together soon. The staff can’t get suspicious.”

“Just as I was thinking. What do you plan on doing?”

“Well, I’ll need to talk to him. Any ideas?”

There was a pause on the other end as M thought.

“You read people for a living, Bond. You’re the best, so use your skill set. If you notice that a word or an action is disturbing him, avoid it. He’ll figure out what you’re doing, and maybe if he recognises that you’re making an effort he’ll perhaps be more willing to relax around you.”

Bond sighed.

“Delicacy’s not my forte, M.”

“Good thing you have an opportunity to practice it then. Don’t cock it up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bond watched as a car turned into the hotel’s driveway. It was expensive without being ostentatious. Owned by somebody who knew they had nothing to prove to anyone.

“Oh, and 007?”

“Yes?”

“Whatever you do, don’t make him feel weak, or coddled, it’s a sure-fire way to make him resent you. He’s tougher than he gives himself credit for, but he won’t stand for someone else looking after him. You saw him when he had the flu a year ago?”

“Didn’t it almost develop into pneumonia?”

“Because he refused to go to Medical, yes. Funnily enough his reasoning was that he was overseeing one of your missions. You’re familiar with his special brand of stubbornness.”

The car rolled past Bond. The windows were tinted, but Bond could just distinguish the silhouettes of two people sitting in the front of the car.

“Is that all?”

“For the moment. You’d best head back soon and start sorting this out.”

“Thank you, sir. Bond out.”

He hung up the phone and pocketed it before making his way back indoors.

 


	8. Monday Afternoon

 

Bond planned to knock on the door before opening, but as he rounded into their corridor he saw two men standing at the door to the room opposite, with a porter helping them with their bags. They were both solidly built and dressed to match what Bond guessed was their car, the one he’d seen in the driveway. The porter unlocked their door for them, and made to pick up their luggage from the trolley, but they both got their first and waved the porter away. Bond dodged the man and his trolley and stepped forward. The two newcomers both paused as they saw him, and gave him a once-over that left Bond feeling analysed, before relaxing into polite smiles. The taller of the two put his arm around the second man’s waist and Bond noticed the gleam of golden rings on their left hands.

“Good afternoon,” Bond said, smiling back, relaxing his stance as they stood a couple of metres apart. The shorter one extended his hand across the space between them.

“And to you. I’m Marcus, and this is my partner Finn.”

Bond recognised the soft drawl. He shook the offered hand firmly.

“Nice to meet you. I’m James, and I’m here with my boyfriend Declan.”

He waved vaguely at the door to their room, not looking away from the couple standing in front of him.

“Which part of the U.S. are you from?”

But before they could answer, the door between them opened and Q stepped out. Bond was the best agent of Her Majesty’s Secret Service, so he didn’t gasp, but for a split second he felt shock pass over his face. Q was wearing tight, black jeans that made him appear even younger and thinner, but that wasn’t what had Bond staring. Q was also wearing a white dress-shirt that was far too large, and obviously Bond’s. It melted over his tiny frame and fluttered over the tops of his thighs as he moved into the corridor. The sleeves were pushed up unevenly and the buttons were done wrong. His hair, usually messy anyway, was scruffed in such a way that it looked like someone had spent a few hours running their hands roughly through it, which, Bond finally figured out, was the point.

He had never seen Q look so… sexed out. Even the bruises around his neck looked less threatening when the rest of him was presented like that, they could easily be passed off as love-bites that had been placed on the pressure points of the neck. Hadn’t Bond left so many looking like that after he’d slept with a mark? His mind was suddenly filled with the image of Q underneath him, the buttons from his shirt thrown open, Q’s heaving chest lifting to Bond’s mouth with every inhalation. Bond would kiss across his collarbones, and then up until he could almost taste the racing pulse of his Quartermaster under his lips, then undo those unbelievably tight jeans with his tongue…

Just the thought of it was making his mouth water.

Q turned towards the Americans and grinned at them, managing to look absolutely adorable.

“Hello. I’m James’s boyfriend, Declan. I heard him talking and thought I’d check up on him.”

Q took a step towards James, who’d momentarily frozen. His mind was clashing, strung out between enforcing the cover story and pretending to be a boyfriend to someone who might panic with any contact, and they hadn’t yet had a conversation about how that was going to work, and wanting desperately to find out if he could imitate Q’s look with his own hands and tongue and… Q slid into the divot of Bond’s shoulder as if it was made for him and leant his head against Bond’s chest, pressing into his body, silently inviting Bond’s hands to circle his waist. Bond did, bringing Q even closer as he felt how cold he was, even through the fabric of his shirt.

“Pleasure,” Marcus said, while Finn looked Q up and down. Bond felt a possessive wave pass over him and quashed it before the threat behind it showed on his face. He turned his head and kissed Q’s wild hair. Q blinked prettily.

“Oh, Americans! Where are you from?” He sounded exactly like a naïve tourist, excited about exotic cultures. Needless to say, Bond was impressed.

 “Virginia,” Finn answered, his voice low. “Marcus is from South Dakota.”

“Lovely! I keep telling James we need to visit America, it seems like such a diverse place!” Q nudged Bond’s torso playfully, shooting him an affectionate smile.

“As soon as you get more than a week off work, we will,” Bond tutted, falling into the role perfectly, feeling Q’s ribs move beneath his hand.

“And you’re both British?” Marcus was taking the lead in the conversation again.

“From London.” Bond’s tone of voice made it sound like the most romantic place to come from. “I do love home, but I have to admit, the sunshine here is more agreeable than the constant rain!”

Q rolled his eyes at his partner while Marcus and Finn laughed politely.

“Which reminds me,” Q said, nuzzling against Bond’s jaw. “Did you happen to get me breakfast while you were out, darling?”

“I’m sorry, I completely forgot. The gardens were too beautiful.”

“Not to worry!” Q balanced on his toes and pressed a soft kiss to Bond’s cheek, immobilising him and leaving the skin burning pleasantly. “We can order in! Nothing better than breakfast in bed.”

He winked at the Americans and laced his fingers with Bond’s, pulling him towards the door.

“See you around Marcus, Finn.”

They walked into their rooms and Bond shut the door behind them, giving the other couple a farewell of his own. As soon as the door locked Q dropped Bond’s hand like it was on fire and hurriedly undid the buttons of the shirt. He pulled if it off and dropped it on top of Bond’s bag before picking up a jumper of his own and pulling it over his head. Bond watched him, anger flaring as he saw the bruises marking Q’s pale skin again, while he listened at the door. When he was certain the Americans were no longer in the corridor he gave Q his full attention.

“Well, then.”

Q turned on him.

“I know what M told you, and I know what you’ve probably figured out already. And although I appreciate your… concern for my welfare,” Q’s hand fluttered unconsciously to his scarred ribs again, “I need you to know that I can and will put everything aside for the sake of this mission. I apologise for last night, I should have gone to bed. I can assure you a mistake won’t happen again.”

M’s words echoed in Bond’s mind, and he chose his words with care.

“I have never doubted your ability or your strength, Q, and I never thought that you wouldn’t be able to handle this. But it’s more than that. This isn’t a mission where you succeed or die. You still need to be alright when we get back to HQ. Your job continues after this, and I won’t let you put yourself in a place that could potentially damage the Quartermaster.”

Pure determination flashed across Q’s eyes and he strode purposefully across the room. Bond had time to realise he’d unwittingly challenged him before Q’s hands were on his chest, and those clever lips were on his own. Bond huffed as his back hit the door and he wrapped his arms around Q, pulling him closer, forgetting their conversation the moment Q opened his mouth and traced the inside with his tongue. As the kiss continued Bond found himself surprised that, however unconsciously hesitant Q was, he knew what he was doing. His mind roared in triumph as he felt Q start to hang onto him, rather than push against him, sliding one hand from Bond’s chest to cup his face, the other one circling around his back, pushing their bodies almost flush together. Bond stroked down Q’s spine, feeling each vertebrae even through the jumper, a surge of protectiveness going through him as he thought of how Q needed to eat more, he really was too thin... However, the moment his calloused thumbs traced the skin that stretched over Q’s hipbones, Q broke the kiss. His eyes were bright as he stepped backwards out of Bond’s reach and straightened his jumper, so it covered the slip of skin between the jumper and his jeans. Bond stayed leaning against the door, catching his breath and trying not to look like he was caught unawares, or that he would’ve all but begged Q to keep kissing him.

“See?” Q said, the posh tones only slightly dampened by his uneven breathing. “I’m fine.”

“Well, if you do that over dinner, we can pretty much seal our covers.”

Q hummed noncommittally as he picked up his towel.

“I’m having a shower then I’ll put a camera on the corridor outside.”

“The Americans?”

“If they’re not CIA, they’re NATO, and M said no one else was meant to be involved with Indaschmal.”

Bond nodded.

“I’d say CIA. It’s a little too unlikely for NATO to send two Americans on an assassination mission, in France.”

“Agreed. I’ll get the camera up soon. Inform M, won’t you?”

Without another look, Q walked to the bathroom and shut the door behind him. When Bond heard the water running he sat on the bed with his head in his hands, his mind swimming with Q’s hands, his breath, his eyes...

Bloody hell. What had he gotten himself into?

 


	9. Monday Evening

 

Dinner was a quiet affair, Bond and Q deciding that the hotel’s formal restaurant could wait another night, and taking the buffet instead. Although Bond prided himself on picking up on some of Q’s subtler cues, he was concerned with how frequent they were. When he wasn’t fixing his glasses he ran his fingers over his work phone, checking emails or GPS updates. There was also the submissive quality that Bond had come to associate with Jasper, rather than his Quartermaster. He wouldn’t look Bond in the eye and refused to serve himself until Bond had taken his double helpings of the food, as well as phrasing everything as a question, as if he needed permission. He followed Bond when they walked, keeping just out of his sight at his five ‘o’ clock. Bond tried to stamp on his own instincts, telling him he needed Q in front of him at all times. It was much easier to defend him from attackers, as well as just needing to know where everyone was in the room. There had been a nasty fight in Moscow at the very start of 007’s career that could have been avoided if he’d kept the target in front of him. Lessons were learnt quickly in the field.

He had to give Q credit where it was due. The only times he looked truly uncomfortable was when he knew none of the other patrons could see him. As they walked to and from the room, Q linked his arm with Bond’s and pressed close, not out of the need for protection, but just for the necessity of touch that so many couples had. He played the adoring partner so perfectly, Bond caught himself wondering about the almost-kiss back at his sister’s apartment more than once. But that lead to another whole train of thought. Yes, Bond wanted to kiss him again, but he wanted that hesitation that was purely Q, not Declan, he wanted to kiss away the fear in his eyes, he wanted Q to trust him… Bond was bought back to the present as Q put his cutlery on the plate, organising them so they lay perfectly parallel to each other.

“Are you sure you don’t want something else? You’ve not eaten much,” Bond attempted to keep the concern out of his voice before reminding himself that it fit into his character. He leant forward and brushed the back of Q’s hand with his own. Q looked at him and gave him a warm smile which contradicted the anxious look in his eyes, turning over his hand so their fingers laced together.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m still full from lunch.”

Bond squeezed their linked hands gently. Everything with Q would have to be gentle.

“Ready to head back to the room?”

“If you are.”

They rose and Q followed Bond into the lift, keeping their hands together. As the doors opened on their floor they stepped out, only to run into the two Americans they’d met early that afternoon.

“James, Declan,” Marcus said, smiling at the both of them, glancing briefly at their hands. “We’re about to head down to dinner, care to join us?”

“Sorry,” Q said, flashing them another confident grin that Bond wanted to see on Q’s face when he wasn’t acting. “We just ate.”

Marcus tutted.

“Next time, then.”

Finn nodded at them and stepped into the lift as Marcus waved goodbye. Bond tugged on Q’s hand and led him into their room, where Q pulled back his hand and shrugged out of his shirt.

“I was going to head for bed, unless there was something you wanted me to do before going to sleep?”

Bond stayed still and tried to think of how to phrase what he wanted to say.

“Q. I need you to know that I’m not going to hurt you.”

Q froze. Bond waited for an answer, and kept talking when it became apparent he wasn’t going to get one.

“I know this isn’t the ideal situation, but 007 or Bond, hell even James, I won’t ever hurt you. Don’t get me wrong, you’re doing an amazing job with the cover story, I think the Americans are actually jealous, but it’s the little things. I will never expect you, or want you, to ask permission, and I won’t be disappointed or angry if you think of yourself before me.” Bond tried for a lighter tone. “I think we both know I can look after myself.”

Q moved a muscle at a time before he was walking across the room. Bond watched him warily as he went to a picture frame that was slightly crooked and lined it up so it was sitting square. He then moved across the room to the desk, making every wire run parallel to the desk, just as he’d done with the cutlery at dinner. He shifted the laptop so it was also in line. Bond watched his hands go through the whole desk until it was entirely made of right angles. Q stood back and looked at it critically. Bond opened his mouth to speak, maybe try for another joke, anything to distract him when Q strode to the other side of the room again and promptly tipped his suitcase upside down, scattering his clothes over the carpet. He knelt down next to the pile and took a shirt in his hands, flicking it before laying it flat and carefully folding it, keeping the folds equal. When it was done Q shook it out and started again. Bond noticed his hands were shaking.

He had to do something. It was a fairly typical, if extreme, response to panic. When everything seemed like a mess, make order and take control in even the smallest things. Everyone did it, unconsciously or not, but not everyone digressed to the point where it became obsessive. He thought back to his training. There were a few ways of breaking someone out of the mindset, and he went through his options quickly. What he needed to do was distract him long enough to calm down. Physical contact wouldn’t be suitable in this situation, he’d seen people react in this way before but most of them were agents coming back from their first missions, so physical interaction was usually the opposite of useful. He figured it wouldn’t be welcomed now, anyway. The easiest way would be talking, but talking was what had triggered this. So what else?

An idea crossed Bond’s mind and he fished his mobile out of his pocket and tapped a few times until the soft sounds of classical piano drifted across the room. Bond hoped Q had no issues with Debussy. The song finished and Bond pressed replay, giving Q consistency. He watched Q go through his wardrobe, leaving it so organised that Bond wished he could have done it like that in the Navy. When the song began for the fourth time, Q slowed down until his sharp movements stopped. Bond could almost see the rationality return to Q’s mind, fighting its way through the panic that had crowded it for the last twenty minutes. Q turned his head and looked at Bond, before looking at the remainder of the pile in front of him. Abruptly, Q scooped it up and dropped it into the suitcase, on top of the perfectly folded clothes already there before standing and facing Bond.

“God, I’m sorry.”

Bond eyed him carefully.

“There’s nothing to apologise for, Q. Tell me what I can do.”

Q looked down at the suitcase before picking out a pair of loose, cotton pants.

“I just want to go to sleep.”

Bond nodded as Q walked to the bathroom. He took the moment’s privacy to change clothes, taking Q’s reactions to him this morning into account and wearing pants of his own. When Q came back into the room, his torso was bare and Bond felt another wave of fury as he saw the bruises.

“I can sleep on the couch, if you want?”

“Don’t be absurd, Bond. Get into bed.”

Bond bit his lip, frantically trying to remind himself that now would not be a good time to be turned on. He slowly got himself under the covers, keeping as close to the edge as possible. Q mirrored him, not saying anything as he reached up and turned the light off. Bond listened to him breathe. It still wasn’t even. Well, one more try for tonight then.

“Q?”

Q’s tone rang with finality.

“Good night, Bond.”

Bond sighed inwardly, but obediently closed his eyes, letting his mind relax. They’d talk in the morning.

 ***

It was forty minutes later that the first shudder crept onto his side of the mattress. He opened his eyes as a second, more violent one followed. Q’s breath caught in his throat and he had Bond’s full attention in less than a second.

“Q?”

“G- Go to sleep, Bond.”

Q’s voice came from above him. Bond could just make out his curled form, sitting up against the headrest, his head in his hands with his knees up to his chest, shaking.

Bond sat up instead.

“Q, talk to me, please. It’s not going to help if you just ignore it.”

“Fuck. Off.”

Bond felt like he was in a small earthquake, the bed was nearly rocking as Q shudders rolled together, until he was caught in one continuous shake. Blindly, Bond reached out until his fingertips brushed Q’s shoulder. He leant forward as Q tried to shrug him off and softly started massaging the bare skin. A few breaths later Q groaned before getting out of bed and shutting himself in the bathroom. Bond heard the all-too familiar sound of retching.

“Well, shit.”

Bond got out of the bed too and padded to the closed door. He waited until there was silence on the other side.

“Can I get you some water?”

Bond heard Q sigh.

“God you don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Bond slid down to the floor, leaning back against the door. He heard Q do the same on the other side.

“Well, it’s half of my job, really… Not quitting.”

Q huffed. Bond pretended it was a laugh.

“That’s true, I suppose.”

Q shuffled on the other side of the door, trying to get comfortable on the tiles.

“So what is it about being in the same room as someone, when you’re not in your own territory? Oh come on Q,” Bond continued when he heard Q’s sharp inhale. “It’s what I do for a living, so please don’t offend me by pretending it’s not true. We have to spend the next fortnight, minimum, together and I’d prefer it if Declan didn’t taste sick. Not to mention your new American fans will get worried. So tell me the worst that can happen and we’ll go from there, OK?”

As the silence stretched on, Bond wondered if he’d gone too far. Q was so reserved, maybe he’d only pushed him farther away…

“I’ll die.”

The comment was so soft Bond nearly missed it. He felt an ache deep in his chest, more than protection. It was the feeling of knowing that if he could change whatever had happened, he would. No matter the cost. It caught him off guard. He hadn’t felt that way since his arms were wrapped around Vesper’s still body. He also knew that the only way Q could ever answer the question with those words were if it had almost happened before. But something else pressed on his mind.

“I’m not going to hurt-”

“It’s not you! It’s not… personal. I trust you Bond, of course I do. I would be stupid not to, you’re the most loyal, most determined, most unbreakable person I’ve met and I know you would never hurt me. You’d never put me in a position where I wasn’t comfortable, I know that. But sometimes it doesn’t change the fact that I also know that I’m going to die when I’m in a room with someone and I don’t have the upper hand.” He took a deep breath. “It’s illogical and stupid and I hate it and I hate it when I can’t control it, but none of that stops it from being there.”

Bond heard Q’s head thump against the door. He waited, storing the compliments away for later reflection.

“The worst bit is that I love being around people. I love the feel of someone else, someone warm. But I wouldn’t expect anyone to take on all... this. It’s not fair to ask for someone do that when I could be fine one second, and out the door the next for no reason.”

Bond heard the disdain slip into Q’s tone.

“Before going to your parent’s house, I never would’ve known. At work, you’re so grounded. Even in the midst of a mission that’s gone to hell, you’re solid.”

“Because that’s work. That’s Q, that was after all this... That’s what I need to do, and if you’ll allow me a moment of blatant patriotism, it’s what England needs me to do.”

It all made sense. The pieces fit together perfectly in Bond’s head. Q wouldn’t, or felt he couldn’t, deal with the fallout of his relationship, so he didn’t. He thought back of all the times he’d found Q asleep in his office, how he’d worked himself to exhaustion, how he always was one hundred percent focused on the job at hand, no matter the personal cost. Bond knew that many around MI6 found Q to be impersonal, even cold, but that wasn’t it at all. Q simply couldn’t afford to be anything else.

“Can I open the door?” Bond asked, casually, as if he were commenting on the weather.

“Give me a second.”

Q moved off the floor and Bond heard Q brushing his teeth. He stood up, turned the light on, and waited for Q’s OK. When it came a moment later, Bond opened the door and stepped back, so he wasn’t blocking Q’s only exit. He looked pale and shaken and cold. Bond walked back to the bed and sat in the middle of it.

“When you’re ready.”

Slowly, Q came out of the bathroom and walked to the bed. Bond reached out and offered Q an upturned hand. Q hesitated and then took it, allowing himself to be pulled forward and onto the mattress. Bond didn’t let go when he lay Q down on his back and pulled the doona over both of them, making sure it was well away from resting on Q’s throat, a place he knew felt vulnerable.

“Lights on or off?”

“Off, please.”

Bond sent the room into darkness with a flick of his fingers and lay down, broadcasting his movements as clearly as he could. Tension was still running through Q’s shoulders as Bond lay next to him, their hands still entwined. Moving on instinct, Bond turned on his side to face Q and let go of his hand, only to take the opposite one. His arm now stretched across Q’s stomach and Bond shuffled closer, until their bodies lined up from toes to shoulders, pressing in even more when Bond felt how frozen Q’s skin was. Q took a deep breath before rolling over, allowing Bond to close the final distance between them until Bond’s chest was flat against Q’s. Q rested his head over Bond’s heart, listening to the steady beating. They lay in silence until the stress finally bled out of Q and his breathing evened out in sleep. Bond allowed himself to kiss the mop of black hair nestled underneath his chin before closing his own eyes, whispering a promise to the night.

“I’ll look after you.”

 


	10. Tuesday Morning

 

Bond woke up briefly in the night. He almost panicked when he felt a solid weight covering his chest before he realised that he’d merely been upgraded from Q’s pillow to his mattress. Even though they were almost of a height, Q had managed to arrange himself so he wasn’t touching any of the bed, instead curling so close Bond could barely tell where he stopped and Q started. Q’s legs twisted between his, and his hands lay on Bond’s shoulders. The only thing that hadn’t moved was Q’s head, which still rested directly over his heart. Bond wrapped his arms around Q, careful of the bruises, and smiled as he drifted back to sleep. He could get used to this.

 ***

The next time he woke, the bed was empty and Q was at the desk, tapping away on his laptop. Bond stretched and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“Good morning, 007,” Q said, without turning around.

“And to you. What’s going on?”

“I ran a face-search on Marcus and Finn. They’re ex-CIA. They disappeared on a joint mission two years ago under suspicious circumstances and were never found.”

Bond pushed the blankets off and walked over to the computer, looking at the screen over Q’s shoulder.

“They defected?”

“I don’t know, but they haven’t contacted their HQ. M called them yesterday and the CIA director told him he hadn’t ordered or approved any agents on site. I’m just fact-checking, but they seem to be speaking the truth.” Q took a breath. “I emailed their Quartermaster when the face-alert sounded, and she’s trying to backtrack where they could’ve been all this time. There actual names are Connor Brant and Gary Coste. She hasn’t found anything else yet.”

“She?”

Q gave him a stony look.

“Out of all the things I just said, the fact that the American Quartermaster happens to be female is the one thing you pick up on?”

Bond merely cocked an eyebrow.

“The last time I had something to do with the CIA, the Quartermaster was male. I didn’t know they’d changed staff, is all.”

“That was Robert, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Roberta now.”

Bond blinked.

“Good. I liked her.”

“Good. She’s excellent.”

“Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment.”

“Yes, it is. Anyway, I have R working on it, too, but until they come up with something, we can’t exactly take action. We don’t know why they’re here.”

“Surely you don’t think it’s a coincidence?”

“That Indaschmal’s going to be here in a fortnight and they’ve managed to be in this exact place with an appropriate cover? No, but I am nothing if not hopeful. Maybe they’re vigilantes, looking to take him down themselves, rather than being his pre-emptive security.”

“Or they could not know about Indaschmal and be here for us.”

 “Here for you,” the Quartermaster corrected. “I don’t exist, remember?”

“I know your identity isn’t real, but everyone’s aware that there’s a person behind MI6’s screens. If they’ve figured it out, you shouldn’t be here.”

Q looked at Bond incredulously.

“To track me down is so close to impossible it makes the risks you take on missions look like trying a new brand of coffee. But even if, somehow, that’s true, stopping Indaschmal is more important than the people living next door.”

“I’m here to keep you safe, Q,” Bond said quietly.

“And no one’s shooting at us.”

“Not yet.”

“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

Q stood up, ending the conversation. He was still only wearing the pants he slept in, and Bond noticed some of the lighter bruises around his wrists and shoulders were beginning to fade.

“I’m going to have a shower.”

“Breakfast in?”

“Sounds perfect.”

 

 ***

 

Q let the warm water rush over him as he scrubbed himself down, wincing at the bruises on his shoulder and neck. The Americans were a new twist to the mission. No matter why they were here, they were obviously spies, meaning that they may have figured out that Bond, at least, is too. If they weren’t convinced by Bond and his cover for a second, there was a high chance the Americans would kill them. Q shook his head as he remembered Bond’s worry. There was no way they knew who he was, or his role at MI6. It just wasn’t feasible. Also, considering all that happened yesterday, it’s no wonder Bond was concerned.

“He’d do anything for a mission,” Q reminded himself. “And my recent actions have made me a liability.”

Q took a breath and washed his hair quickly thinking quickly. He needed to get back on top of the game. Bond wanted him to be convincing. He could be convincing… The sight that met Q’s eyes as he’d opened them this morning leapt unbidden into his mind. Not only were he and Bond sharing a bed, but Q had managed to worm his way over the mattress until he was all but covering the agent, sapping his warmth. It took a few minutes for Q to extricate himself carefully out of Bond’s arms without waking him, and another few to analyse why he hadn’t woken up panicking. Usually if someone as much as touched him without warning, Q would be on edge for the rest of the day. But wrapped up in Bond’s arms, listening to his even heartbeat through the flesh instead of a tracker on a screen, hadn’t triggered anything at all. For a moment Q swayed forward, as if to climb back into the bed with the agent, but he’d stopped himself and frowned.

“Professionalism, Quartermaster,” he’d chided before turning to his computer. He hadn’t looked at Bond until he heard him wake up, an hour later.

“ _Convincing_ ”, Q thought as he turned the water off. Towards that body, it couldn’t be too difficult.

 

 ***

 

They decided to make a more public appearance that day, going down to reception and asking their opinion on the walks around the hotel, even though both of them knew the area off by heart. They held hands as they listened to the receptionist rattle off different routes and every now and again Bond would find himself slowly drawing circles on Q’s skin. He almost stopped himself before remembering that it was only cementing their cover, and Q wasn’t looking overly distressed. After a long twenty minutes, accompanied by almost the same number of maps, Bond and Q set off to the wooded section of the hotel’s property. It was a quiet, sunny day and Bond noticed Q relaxing as they got further away from the hotel.

“Do you get out of London often?”

Q sighed, and shuffled the backpack further up his shoulder.

“Not often enough. I wish I could get to my parent’s house more, I miss Audrey.”

“How old is she?”

Q launched into the history of his dog, from the initial meeting, to the troubles she got into through her puppy years, all the way up to her diagnosis. Bond couldn’t remember the last time he laughed as hard as he did when Q described her reaction to eating half a pot of instant coffee. A lightness filled him, as he noticed the dappled light flashing off Q’s glasses and onto his cheekbones.

“She was on edge for days, and if she was at the top of a corridor she’d suddenly bolt down it.” He paused. “She almost ran through Cass once, I don’t think someone could jump out of the way that fast, but-”

He cut himself off, looking around them in wonder. They’d walked into a clearing with a stream running through one side. The sun broke through the trees, lighting up the green grass waving gently in the breeze. It reminded Bond of a fairy tale.

“We’re stopping here for lunch, then?”

Q turned around, beaming.

They settled near the river, spreading a blanket out underneath them. Q unpacked the lunch from the backpack, throwing Bond a bottle of water and taking out one for himself. He took a long drink before digging into his lunch with enthusiasm Bond didn’t think the thin man was capable of.

“Metabolism,” Q said, catching Bond’s impressed look.

Bond nodded and bit into his sandwich, allowing the sounds of nature wash over him. The river was bubbling happily and a light breeze played over the grass, gently pressing leaves together until they were kissing, and then letting them fall again. He’d been to many beautiful places throughout the world, but there was something about this place that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The woods in Northern America had the same mystic feel, and the river was much gentler than the roaring waterfalls he preferred. The birds weren’t singing the native British calls he loved the most and the food certainly wasn’t the five-star dining he was accustomed to… Q lay down on the grass, closing his eyes as the sun caressed his skin and as Bond looked at him, he felt something, almost like-

“Although compared to Nevada, this is completely different. The redwoods have a far greater reach and the sequoias, well…”

“I said it was beautiful, not that it was more beautiful than home. Breathe, dear.”

A chuckle filtered through the trees and Q’s eyes snapped open as he placed the American accents immediately. Bond barely had time to think of a plan when Q launched himself on top of him, straddling his thighs and crashing their lips together. Bond’s hands automatically grasped Q’s hips, pulling him closer before his mind caught up with what he was doing, what was happening. He could almost feel Q’s heartbeat, running much too fast as adrenaline swept through his system. The voices got louder before cutting off mid-sentence, the sound of a throat clearing cutting off Q nipping at James’s bottom lip. Q looked up and froze like a deer in the headlights before scrambling off Bond. Bond reached out and snagged his hand before turning round himself, facing Marcus and Finn, or Connor and Gary, who were both holding back laughter.

“We are so sorry to interrupt,” Marcus said, looking smug.

“We didn’t know anyone else was on the trail,” Finn added, when neither Q nor Bond said anything.

“Neither did we,” Bond offered, earning another chuckle from the pair.

“We’ll… leave you to it. But won’t you join us for dinner tonight?”

“Of course,” Q said, cutting off Bond’s answer. “Seven, at the dining room?”

“See you then.”

They waved and made off through the trees.

Q was silent for a minute before what couldn’t be described as anything other than a giggle burst out of him. Bond raised an eyebrow, which only made him laugh harder.

“I’m sorry,” Q eventually got out, wiping his eyes. “I haven’t been caught with anyone since…”

In a moment the mirth died, leaving a troubled look on his face. His gaze wondered to the river, which he watched intently.

“Q?”

“Let’s go back to the hotel, Bond.”

Bond didn’t need to analyse the detached tone, or the careful way Q avoided contact as they packed up the lunch, to know that the carefree Quartermaster had once again slipped out of his grasp.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to take a moment to thank everyone who's either commented, bookmarked, or kudos-d this work. I really don't want to exaggerate or diminish Q's history, or Bond's reactions to Q, and for a while I felt stuck with how to express it in the way that I wanted, but the comments especially were so incredibly lovely and encouraged me to keep at it. I'm sorry it's taken so long, but real life things on top of figuring out the logistics of this story all piled up and there wasn't much time to focus on this. But it should be getting better now! :D
> 
> Bubbletrix  
> :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new fic that I've been playing around with for a few months now. I've been stressing about getting the balance right between the BAMF!Quartermaster we know and love from Skyfall, and the events that happened before Q was at MI6. Please let me know what you think, concrit is always loved! :)


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